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VELASQUEZ 


PORTRAIT  OF  HIMSELF 

Capitoline  Gallery,  Rome 


The  History  of  Painting 

From  the  Fourth  to  the  Early 
Nineteenth  Century 

By 

Richard  Muther,  Ph.D. 

Professor  in  the  University  of  Breslau,  Author  of  "The  History  of 
Modern  Painting,"  etc. 

Authorised  EngHsh  Edition 

Translated  from  the  German  and   Edited   with  Annotations 

By 

George  Kriehn,  Ph.D, 

Sometime  Instructor  in  the  Johns  Hopkins  University  and 
Assistant  Professor  in  the  Leland  Stanford  Jr.  University 

In  Two  Volumes 
VOLUME  II. 


Illustrated 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 
New  York  and  London 
^be  IRiUchcrbocker  press 
1907 


Copyright,  1907 

BY 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

Published,  March,  1907 
Reprinted,  April,  1907 


Ube  "ftnfcftcrboclier  pre«s,  *Rcw  IBorft 


Contenta 


BOOK  II.— THE  RENAISSANCE  (Continued). 
Chapter  VI.— The  Union  of  the  Styles. 

PAGE 

I.— Raphael  407 

II. — ^The  End  of  the  Renaissance  in  Italy      .  419 
III. —Roma  Caput  Mundi     .       .       .       .  426 

Chapter  VII. — ^The  Struggle  of  Venice  and  Spain 
AGAINST  Rome. 

I. — Lorenzo  Lotto  438 

II.— Tintoretto  45^ 

III. — ^The  Spanish  School      ....  459 

BOOK  III.— THE  SEVENTEENTH  AND  EIGH- 
TEENTH CENTURIES. 

Chapter  I.— Italian  Painting  in  the  Seventeenth 
Century. 

I.— The  Spirit  of  the  Counter-Reformation   .  471 
II. — Religious  Painting       ....  483 

III.  — The  Genre  Picture       ....  494 

IV.  — The  Landscape    .  .       .  .501 

iii 


iv  dontents 

FAGB 

Chapter  II. — ^The  Religious  and  Realistic 
Art  of  Spain. 

I. — Ribera  and  Zurbaran    .       .       .  -511 

II.  — ^Velasquez  515 

III.  — Murillo  527 

Chapter  III. — ^The  Sensual  Art  of  Flanders. 

I. — Rubens      ......  540 

II.  — ^The  Contemporaries  of  Rubens      .       .  553 

III.  — Van  Dyck  560 

Chapter  IV. — ^The  Rise  of  Dutch  Painting. 

I. — ^The  First  Portraitists   ....  570 

II. — Frans  Hals  ......  579 

III.  — ^The  Contemporaries  of  Hals  .       .       .  586 

IV.  — Rembrandt  ......  593 

Chapter  V. — ^The  End  of  Dutch  Painting. 

I.— The  Genre  Painters      .       .       .  .618 
II. — ^The  Landscape  Painters       .       .       .  632 
III. — Court  Atmosphere       ....  642 

Chapter  VI.— The  Aristocratic  Art  of  France. 

I.— The  Age  of  Louis  XIV.        .       .  .648 
II. — ^The  Spirit  of  the  Rococo      .       .       .  659 
III.— Watteau  675 


Contents 


V 


J  v.— The  Followers  of  Watteau 

V.  — Boucher 

•       •  • 

VI.  — The  Painters  of  Frivolity 

VII.~The  Pastoral  Play,  Bourgeois  and  An- 
tique 


PAGE 
685 

694 

709 


Chapter  VII.-The  Triumph  of  the  Bourgeoisie. 


I. — England 
II.— The  Enlightenment 

III.  — The  Passing  of  Beauty 

IV.  — Revolution  and  Empire 

V.  — Classicism  in  Germany 

Index  . 


729 

741 
748 
760 
772 

783 


miuetrationa 

PAGE 

Velasque:( — Portrait  of  Himself,  Frontispiece 

Capitoline  Gallery,  Rome 

Raphael— La  Belle  Giardiniere  .      •  .  410 

Louvre,  Paris 

Raphael — The  School  of  Athens     .  414 

Fresco  in  the  Vatican,  Rome 

Raphael — Pope  Julius  I L   .      .      .  418 

Pitti  Gallery,  Florence 

Giulio  Romano — Fall  of  the  Giants  .  422 

Fresco  in  Palazzo  del  Te,  Mantua 

Loren:(o  Lotto — Portrait  of  the  Pro- 

thonotary  Giuliano     .      .      .  447 

National  Gallery,  London 

Paolo  Veronese — The  Marriage  of 

Cana  452 

Dresden  Gallery 

Tintoretto— The   Miracle   of  St, 

Mark  .      .      .    ■  .      .      .  458 

Accademia,  Venice 
VOL.  II  vii 


viii 


irilustrstions 


Caravaggio — The  False  Players  .      .  490 

Dresden  Gallery 

Claude  Lorrain—The  Disembark- 

ment  of  Cleopatra      .      .      .  510 

Louvre,  Paris 

Zurbaran — Vision  of  St.  Peter  No- 

lasco  514 

Prado,  Madrid 

Velasquei  -Prince  Balthaiar  Carlos 

in  Hunting  Costume  .      .      .  518 

Prado,  Madrid 

Velasquez — Portrait  of  Innocent  X  .  522 

Doria  Galley,  Rome 

Velasque^—y^sop      .      .      .  .526 

Prado,  Madrid 

Murillo — The  Immaculate  Concep- 
tion  536 

Louvre,  Paris 

Rubens — The  Holy  Family,  with 

Saints  Elizabeth  and  Francis     .  546 

Metropolitan  Museum,  New  York 


IFUustrattons 


Rubens — Castor  and  Pollux  Carry- 
ing  Off  the  Daughters  of 
Leuoippus  .... 

Munich  Gallery 

Van  Dyck— James  Stuart,  Duke  of 
Richmond  and  Lenox  . 

Metropolitan  Museum,  New  York 

Frans  Hals — Banquet  of  the  Officers 
of  St,  George's  Guild  . 

Haarlem  Gallery 

Frans  Hals — Portrait  of  an  Un- 
known Man 

Metropolitan  Museum,  New  York 

Rembrandt— Portrait  of  Saskia  . 

Dresden  Gallery 

Rembrandt — The  Sacrifice  ofManoah 

Dresden  Gallery 

Rembrandt — The  Artist  and  his 
Wife  ..... 

Dresden  Gallery 

Adriaen  Van  Ostade — The  Old 
Fiddler  .... 

Metropolitan  Museum,  New  York 


X  IFllustrations 

PAGE 

Gerard  Terborg— Officer  Writing  a 

Letter  630 

Dresden  Gallery 

Jacob  van  Ruysdael — The  W aterfall  .  636 

Dresden  Gallery 

Meindert  Hobbema— Avenue  of  Mid- 

delharnais  640 

National  Gallery,  London 

Hyacinthe  Rigaud — Portrait  of  Louis 

XII/,  652 

Versailles,  Palace 

Antoine    Watteau — The   hie  of 

Cythera  676 

Louvre,  Paris 

Rosalba  Carrier  a — A  Lady  ( Pastel )  694 

Louvre,  Paris 

Francois  Boucher — Neptune  and 

A  my  one      .      .      .      .      .  706 

Trianon,  Versailles 

jean  Baptiste  Greu^e — The  Broken 

Pitcher  718 

Louvre,  Paris 


Illustrations 

Sir  Joshua  Reynolds — Portrait  of 
Dr.  Samuel  Johnson  . 

National  Gallery,  London 

Gainsborough — Portrait   of  Mrs, 
Siddons  .... 

National  Gallery,  London 

Giovanni Battista  Tiepolo — Martyr- 
dom of  St.  Agatha 

Berlin  Gallery 

Goya  y  Lucientes—La  Maja 

Academy  of  San  Fernando,  Madrid 

Jacques  Louis  David — Leonidas  at 
ThermopylcB       ,      .  . 

Louvre,  Paris 

Fragonard — The  Swing 

Wallace  Collection,  London 

Angelica  Kauffman—The  Vestal 
Virgin  .... 

Dresden  Gallery 


Booh 
Zbc  1Renai60ance 

(  Continued ) 


( 


Cbapter  IDI 
Ube  mnton  of  tbe  Stifles 

H.  IRapbael 

THE  acquisitions  of  those  who  extended  the 
bounds  of  the  empire  are  inherited  by  those 
who  come  after  them.  As  in  the  middle  of 
the  fifteenth  century  GozzoH  had  adopted  the  results 
of  the  investigations  of  Castagno  and  Uccello,  and 
all  the  achievements  of  the  next  generation  were 
used  by  Ghirlandajo;  so  the  great  profiteur  of  the 
sixteenth  century  is  named  Raphael. 

In  examining  Raphael's  portraits  of  himself  one  - 
indeed  feels  a  certain  personal  element  of  his  style. 
This  youth  with  the  inteUigent,  sympathetic  features, 
the  bare  neck,  and  the  long  artist's  locks;  with  the  pure, 
soft  girlish  eyes  like  those  of  Perugino's  Madonnas, 
corresponds  to  Vasari's  picture  of  Raphael's  per- 
sonality: "Every  evil  humour  vanished  when  his 
comrades  saw  him,  every  low  thought  fled  from  their 
minds  ;  and  this  was  because  they  felt  themselves 
vanquished  by  his  affability  and  beautiful  nature."  ^ 

1  Although  this  translation  is  a  condensation  of  the  well-known 
passage  in  Vasari,  it  embodies  the  essential  sense. — Ed. 

407 


4o8 


Ube  XHuion  of  tbe  Stales 


As  he  himself  experienced  nothing  sad,  so  his  art  is  one 
of  sunny  joyfulness.  As  his  Hfe  was  passed  without 
storms,  without  catastrophes,  so  he  never  painted  thrill- 
ing or  convulsive  pictures.  Even  when  the  subject  is 
terrible,  or  violently  dramatic,  he  remains  mild  and  soft, 
pleasing  and  friendly.  As  his  portrait  has  more  a  typical 
than  an  individual  effect,  so  in  his  paintings  everything 
individual  is  either  eliminated  or  changed  into  the 
typical.  As  he  never  had  conflicts  either  with  his 
employers  or  with  his  assistants,  but  was  as  pliant  and 
lovable  in  obeying  as  in  giving  orders,  so  there  are  no 
dissonances  in  his  art.  Everything  that  is  hard  and 
angular  in  nature  is  softened  and  rounded;  and  not 
only  the  individual  forms  but  the  composition  moves  in 
pliant,  rhythmic  lines.  As  his  own  life  was  a  beautiful 
harmony,  so  his  paintings  fuse  the  gay  many-sided- 
ness of  life  into  soft  harmonies  in  which  no  movement 
or  fold  of  drapery  disturbs  the  pleasing  unison. 

But  another  side  of  his  being  is  expressed  in  the 
portrait  of  himself.  This  handsome  cavalier  was  no 
brooder  over  problems;  he  never  knew  the  anxious 
hours  of  doubt  which  genius  experiences.  Instead 
of  giving  he  receives;  instead  of  the  manly  creative 
power  his  most  prominent  characteristic  is  a  feminine 
element,  the  appreciation  of  work  accomplished  by 
others.  Only  in  this  manner  can  the  enormous  number 
of  works  which  he  created  during  a  short  lifetime  be 
explained.  The  most  receptive  artistic  nature  that 
ever  existed,  he  seizes  all  the  threads  in  his  hand,  and 


IRapbael 


409 


shapes  what  individual  geniuses  had  created  into 
new  stylistic  unity.  Here  Perugino  or  Leonardo,  there 
Fra  Bartolommeo  or  Sebastiano,  there  again  Michel- 
angelo or  a  Greek  sculptor  is  his  source.  Only  behind 
the  canvas,  almost  non-existent,  stands  the  beautiful 
youth  of  the  portrait,  smoothing  the  corners  of  his 
models,  softening  their  individuality,  and  smoothing 
their  abruptness. 

His  father,  Giovanni  Santi,  possessed  before  him 
this  eclectic  versatility  and  followed  with  much 
adaptability  now  the  Paduan,  now  the  Umbrian  school, 
uniting  with  the  profession  of  a  painter  that  of  an  author. 
With  the  son  this  eclecticism  became  a  genial,  inherent 
quality.  While  Leonardo  and  Michelangelo  in  their 
first  works,  the  Angel  and  the  Holy  Family,  displayed 
their  individuality,  Raphael  devoted  his  power  to 
mastering  the  entire  development  of  Italian  art  from 
Perugino  to  Michelangelo.  As  his  first  boyish  drawings 
were  copies  of  the  pictures  of  the  philosophers  which 
Justus  of  Ghent  had  painted  in  the  ducal  library  of 
Urbino,  so  his  earliest  pictures  reflect  the  works  of  his 
Umbrian  teacher.  The  Madonna  of  the  Solly  Collection, 
the  Virgin  between  Sts.  Francis  and  Jerome,  and  the 
Conne stabile  Madonna  are  essentially  Umbrian,  and 
reveal  the  same  soft,  sentimental  faces  with  melancholy 
doves'  eyes  that  Perugino  loved.  In  his  first  altar- 
pieces  likewise  he  repeats  with  touching  simplicity 
the  models  of  his  master.  At  the  time  that  Raphael 
was  his  apprentice,  Perugino  had  painted  a  Crucifixion, 


4IO         XTbe  'Qnlon  of  tbe  Stales 

an  Assumption,  a  Coronation,  and  a  Marriage  of  the 
Virgin;  and  although  Raphael  treated  the  same 
subjects,  the  effect  even  at  this  early  period,  especially 
in  the  Sposali^io,  was  more  subtle  and  elegant. 

He  is  also  a  stranger  to  the  one-sidedness  of  the 
Umbrian  masters.  Where  Perugino  was  only  mild 
and  contemplative,  Raphael  painted  dramatic  action: 
St.  George  plunging  upon  his  white  horse  through  the 
landscape  and  swinging  his  sword  against  the  snorting 
dragon.  He  also  enlarged  the  domain  of  painting  in 
another  direction.  While  Perugino,  as  the  follower 
of  Savonarola,  had  treated  only  religious  themes, 
Raphael,  who,  as  in  the  horse  of  St.  George,  copied 
one  of  the  steeds  of  the  Dioscuri,  was  the  first  Umbrian 
to  return  to  the  domain  of  the  antique.  Siena, 
whither  he  had  come  as  an  assistant  to  Pinturicchio, 
possessed  one  of  the  most  beautiful  antique  groups 
known  to  the  sixteenth  century,  the  Three  Graces, 
which  Raphael  copied  in  a  painting  now  in  the  Museum 
of  Chantilly.  Even  more  charming  in  its  modest 
tenderness  is  the  effect  of  the  Umbrian  antique  in  his 
little  painting  of  Apollo  and  Marsyas  in  the  Louvre. 
In  a  third  somewhat  earlier  little  picture,  the  Choice 
of  Hercules,  he  painted  the  choice  which  he  himself 
never  had  to  make.  In  the  days  of  Perugino  antiquity 
and  Christianity  had  been  in  conflict;  but  Raphael 
domesticated  both  in  one  household. 

After  he  had  thus  mastered  the  painting  of  his  Um- 
brian home  he  entered  upon  the  heritage  of  Florentine 


LA  BELLE  GIARDINIERE 

Louvre 


IRapbael 


411 


art.  In  the  Brancacci  Chapel  he  learned  from  Masac- 
cio's  works  the  secret  of  the  grand  style;  in  the 
choir  of  Santa  Maria  Novella  he  studied  Ghirlandajo's 
Coronation  of  the  Virgin  which  served  as  a  model  for 
his  frescoes  in  San  Severo,  Perugia;  and  Donatello's 
relief  at  Orsanmichele  furnished  the  motive  of  his 
St.  George  in  the  Hermitage.  But  even  more  than 
from  the  dead,  he  learned  from  the  living  masters. 
From  1 503  to  1 506  Leonardo  resided  at  Florence,  and 
Fra  Bartolommeo  had  made  it  his  life-work  to  demon- 
strate in  his  paintings  the  latter's  maxims  of  linear 
composition.  Raphael,  who  had  been  quite  Umbrian 
in  the  tender  Madonna  del  Granduca,  now  created  a 
series  of  pictures  of  the  Virgin  which  are  as  closely 
related  to  Leonardo's  Madonna  of  the  Grotto  as  is  the 
Connestahile  Madonna  to  Perugino;  the  best  known 
examples  being  the  Madonna  in  the  Meadow,  the 
Madonna  with  the  Starling,  and  the  Belle  Jardiniere, 
in  all  of  which  the  figures,  as  in  Leonardo's  picture,  are 
bounded  by  an  equilateral  triangle.  From  Leonardo 
also  he  derived  the  chubby-cheeked  Christ-child  with 
the  Praxitelean  pose;  except  that  with  Raphael, 
especially  in  the  Madonna  Canigiani,  the  calculation  in 
the  composition  is  more  conspicuous  because  the  linear 
arrangements  are  not  softened  by  the  effect  of  light. 
His  individuality  nevertheless  is  revealed  in  his  type 
of  the  Madonna.  She  is  not  of  heavenly  beauty,  has 
nothing  of  the  delicacy  of  Leonardo,  but  is  only 
friendly  and  mild,  the  true  sister  of  the  Raphael  whom 


412  XTbe  Tllnion  of  tbc  Stplcs 


we  know  from  his  own  portrait.  He  appears  as  a 
double  of  Fra  Bartolommeo  in  his  Madonna  del 
Baldacchino;  and  imparts  to  his  portrait  of  Madda- 
lena  Doni  the  attitude,  though  not  the  mysterious 
charm,  of  Mona  Lisa.  Finally  he  succeeded  in 
uniting  in  a  single  work,  the  Entombment  of  the 
Brera,  the  characteristics  of  Perugino,  Mantegna, 
Michelangelo,  and  Fra  Bartolommeo.  His  studies 
began  with  Perugino's  Pieta,  received  a  new  point  of 
view  from  Mantegna's  line  engraving  of  the  same 
subject,  and  were  modified  by  Michelangelo's  statue, 
from  which  he  adapted  the  body  of  Christ,  and  his 
Holy  Family,  which  furnished  the  woman  seated  to  the 
right.  Fra  Bartolommeo's  spirit  is  revealed  in  his 
manner  of  subordinating  the  emotional  content  of  the 
theme  to  the  composition. 

His  call  to  Rome  was  attended  by  a  new  change. 
As  in  Perugia  he  had  been  a  soulful  Umbrian,  and  in 
Florence  an  apt  pupil  of  Leonardo,  he  now  rises  to  the 
"grand  style."  The  solemnity  and  majesty  of  the 
Eternal  City  streams  into  his  works. 

But  the  Disputa,  the  first  of  his  paintings  in  the 
chambers  of  the  Vatican,  reveals  his  connection  with 
the  Florentine  Raphael.  As  he  adopted  numerous 
figures  from  Leonardo's  Adoration  of  the  Kings,  so 
also  he  followed  the  principles  which  the  latter  had 
established  for  the  composition  of  historical  paintings. 
In  like  manner  in  his  picture  of  the  Promulgation  of 
the  Decretals  the  connection  with  the  quattrocento, 


IRapbael 


413 


with  Melozzo's  Appointment  of  Platina,  is  evident. 
From  his  School  of  Athens,  although  here  too  there  are 
many  motives  from  Leonardo's  Adoration,  Melozzo's 
Platina,  and  Donatello's  Paduan  reliefs  another 
master  seems  to  speak.  It  need  not  be  assumed  that 
Bramante  furnished  him  the  design;  for  he  painted 
the  ideas  of  Bramante  as  Masaccio  had  those  of 
Brunellesco,  and  Piero  della  Francesca  those  of  Leon 
Battista  Alberti.  His  association  with  the  great 
architect  of  Urbino,  at  that  time  building  structures 
which  announced  a  new  era  of  architecture,  trans- 
formed the  master  of  line  into  a  great  master  of 
space,  into  a  mighty  architect. 

The  chief  picture  of  the  second  chamber,  the  Expul- 
sion of  Heliodorus,  signifies  the  acme  of  his  development 
under  Bramante's  influence.  As  in  the  School  of 
Athens,  a  wide  hall  stretches  before  us,  which,  enlivened 
by  few  figures,  gives  an  even  greater  impression  of 
depth.  Within  this  hall  an  event  of  stormy  dramatic 
action  occurs.  Raphael,  ten  years  earlier,  so  modest 
and  so  Umbrian,  and  so  solemn  in  the  School  of  Athens, 
here  surpasses  Filippino  Lippi  in  Baroque  movement. 
In  another  picture  of  this  chamber,  the  Liberation  of 
Peter,  he  even  succeeds  in  uniting  with  his  mastery  of 
line  a  glowing  colour  and  gleaming  effect  of  light. 
Sebastiano  del  Piombo,  who  had  just  at  that  time 
arrived  in  Rome,  thus  transformed  Raphael  the 
Umbrian  into  a  Venetian. 

In  his  following  works  the  personal  element  dis- 


414  XTbe  XHnton  ot  tbe  Stifles 

appears  even  more;  for  Raphael  now  assigned  the 
execution  of  his  works  to  assistants  and  pupils.  A 
new  principle,  which  is  as  characteristic  for  Raphael 
as  for  the  whole  century,  is  now  enforced.  The 
fifteenth  century  was  the  age  of  individualism.  All 
the  masters  who  had  laboured  in  the  Sistine  Chapel 
worked  independently  side  by  side;  and  even  Michel- 
angelo painted  his  colossal  frescoes  without  assistance. 
Raphael,  as  he  himself  had  yielded  his  personality  to 
others,  now  became  in  his  turn  a  dictator,  under  whose 
command  an  army  of  lesser  masters  laboured.  The 
place  of  individual  creations  is  taken  during  the 
cinquecento  by  works  which  are  nothing  more  than 
joint  achievements  of  artistic  activity. 

Beginning  with  the  year  15 14,  Raphael  followed 
other  models.  Although  he  had  formerly  in  his 
Entombment  adopted  single  figures  from  Michelangelo's 
paintings,  he  now  created  in  the  Sibyls  in  the  church 
of  Santa  Maria  della  Pace  a  work  which  seems  a  transla- 
tion of  Michelangelo's  art  into  the  style  of  Raphael. 
Michelangelesque  is  the  plastic  execution  of  form  and 
the  imposing  treatment  of  drapery;  Raphaelesque, 
the  pleasing  rhythm  of  composition,  the  arrangement, 
and  the  gentle  manner  in  which  he  leads  back  the 
titanic  creations  of  Buonarroti  to  a  measured  humanity. 

But  even  more  than  by  Michelangelo  he  was  influenced 
by  the  antique.  Just  at  that  time  those  celebrated 
works  of  antique  sculpture  were  excavated,  which 
until  the  days  of  Winckelmann,  Lessing,  and  Goethe 


IRapbael 


415 


were  considered  the  most  perfect  revelation  of  the 
Hellenic  spirit;  the  Apollo  Belvedere,  the  Sleeping 
Ariadne,  Antinous,  and  the  Laocoon  group.  The  baths 
of  Titus  revealed  the  principles  of  decoration  of  the 
late  Roman  epoch.  The  museum  of  the  Belvedere 
was  founded,  and  after  Bramante's  death,  Raphael, 
his  artistic  heir,  became  not  only  architect  of  St. 
Peter's  but  conservator  of  antiquities. 

The  decorations  of  the  Loggie  of  the  Vatican  were 
his  first  creations  in  this  capacity.  The  problem  was 
to  enliven  the  ceilings  and  walls  of  the  corridor  of  the 
Vatican  palace  with  pleasing  play  of  line;  a  commission 
especially  sympathetic  to  his  preference  for  harmonious 
form  and  optical  cantilena."  In  this  joyful  Olympian 
scene,  the  cupids  and  birds,  the  maidens,  swinging 
themselves  in  garlands  of  foliage  or  listening  behind 
dainty  columns,  festoons  and  vases,  tritons  and  satyrs, 
naiads  and  sphinxes — everything  is  included  that  the 
sixteenth  century  had  adapted  from  antique  works 
of  art;  and  over  it  all  hovers  the  gra^iosissima  gratia 
of  Raphael  himself. 

After  he  had  thus  in  light  playfulness  done  homage 
to  the  antique,  it  won  a  stylistic  influence  over  him. 
He  is  no  longer  tempted  by  the  solution  of  problems 
of  space  and  colour,  but  composes  his  pictures  of 
statues.  The  Triumph  of  Galatea  is  a  characteristic 
example.  Although  the  motive  of  the  action  of  the 
principal  figure  is  derived  from  a  modern  work,  Leo- 
nardo's Leda,  all  the  remaining  figures,  the  marine 


4i6         XTbe  'Clnion  of  tbe  Stales 

centaur,  the  nereids,  the  triton,  and  the  putto  with  the 
dolphin,  are  taken  from  the  antique  sarcophagus 
rehefs.  Space  and  colour  appear  so  indifferent  to 
him  that  although  this  is  a  marine  picture  he  does  not 
paint  the  water,  but  lets  the  figures  rise  like  statues 
from  the  dry  earth.  The  neighbouring  frescoes  of 
Psyche  in  the  Farnesina  offer  the  logical  complement. 
The  ceiling  frescoes  with  the  Judgment  of  the  Gods  and 
the  Marriage  of  Psyche  resemble  a  forest  of  statues 
suspended  in  the  air,  and  the  figures  of  the  ceiling 
vaults  arise  plastic  as  statues  from  a  void. 

His  religious  pictures  are  treated  in  the  same  plastic 
style.  The  principal  subject  of  the  third  Vatican 
Chamber  depicted  how  Pope  Leo  III.  extinguished  a 
conflagration  by  making  the  sign  of  the  cross.  In 
Raphael's  hands  the  Burning  of  the  Borgo  is  transformed 
into  the  destruction  of  Troy;  but  even  this  designation 
is  derived  from  a  group  interpreted  as  ^neas  and 
Anchises.  In  truth,  the  entire  painting  is  a  collection 
of  studies;  a  naked  man  letting  himself  down  from  a 
wall,  another  taking  up  a  child,  and  the  wind-blown 
figure  of  a  woman  carrying  water.  And  as  there  is  no 
psychical,  neither  is  there  any  external  connection 
among  the  figures.  The  whole  theme  serves  to  demon- 
strate certain  mathematical  principles  of  form,  to 
juxtapose  a  few  rhythmic  and  plastic  bodies.  In  the 
cartoons  for  the  tapestries  which  are  now  the  pride 
of  the  South  Kensington  Museum,  this  feeling  for  the 
antique  is  clarified  into  a  serene  classicism.    They  have 


IRapbael 


417 


been  called  the  Parthenon  sculptures  of  Christian  art 
and  this  characterisation  contains  much  truth.  Those 
who,  like  Ruskin,  the  herald  of  the  Pre-Raphaelites, 
examine  the  cartoons  with  regard  to  their  spiritual 
content,  are  offended  by  the  superficial  character  of 
Hellenic  linear  rhythm;  but  he  who  does  not  measure 
one  period  of  art  by  another  feels  that  the  problem 
imposed  by  the  sixteenth  century  was  most  perfectly 
solved  by  Raphael. 

That  he  nevertheless  retained  a  naturalistic  power 
which  enabled  him  to  create  portraits  ranking  with 
Titian's  as  the  greatest  products  of  sixteenth-century 
portraiture,  is  a  further  proof  of  his  astonishing  ver- 
satility. He  achieved  the  highest  in  the  general 
amalgamation  of  styles  in  the  works  of  his  last  years, 
in  which  a  power  reappears  which  had  been  long  for- 
gotten: Christianity. 

His  earlier  Roman  Madonnas  differ  from  the  Flor- 
entine as  the  School  of  Athens  differs  from  the  Di sputa. 
A  more  heroic  race  of  women,  majestically  built  and 
bold  in  movement,  takes  the  place  of  the  mild,  gentle 
beings  which  he  formerly  painted.  The  backgrounds 
are  no  longer  the  sloping  hills  of  the  valley  of  the 
Arno,  but  the  solemn  forms  of  the  Roman  Campagna, 
animated  by  antique  ruins  and  aqueducts.  The 
composition,  then  laboriously  constructed,  now  be- 
comes, in  the  midst  of  the  most  complicated  intricacies, 
powerful  and  free.  But  although  a  breath  of  the 
universal  power  of  the  papacy  and  something  of 

VOL.  11.— 27. 


4i8  XTbe  lUnion  ot  tbe  Stales 


the  majesty  of  ancient  Rome  pervades  these  works^ 
the  Christian  note  is  lacking. 

Then  came  the  time  when  Luther  nailed  his  theses 
to  the  church  door  in  Wittenberg,  and  a  breath  of  this 
religious  enthusiasm  pulsated  through  Italy.  Fra 
Bartolommeo's  Entombment,  Titian's  Assumption,  and 
Sodoma's  ecstatic  pictures  are  due  to  the  same  sentiment 
which  had  moved  the  world  a  generation  earlier,  in 
the  days  of  Savonarola,  the  time  in  which  Raphael 
was  born.  In  the  visionary  pictures  which  strike 
the  fmal  chord  of  his  artistic  activity,  the  great  style, 
heretofore  so  cold  and  plastic,  is  warmed  and  animated 
by  a  breath  of  Christianity,  by  the  same  mystic 
enthusiasm  which  pulsated  through  the  veins  of  the 
lad  in  Perugino's  workshop. 

The  transition  to  this  later  Christian  style  is  repre- 
sented by  St.  Cecilia,  listening  like  Raphael  himself, 
who  for  the  first  time  again  hears  celestial  music. 
It  is  true  that  St.  Paul  is  taken  from  Leonardo's 
Adoration  and  that  the  Magdalen  resembles  the  type 
which  occurs  in  Sebastiano's  St.  Chrysostom.  But  the 
rapturous  upward  glance  of  St.  Cecilia's  eyes  is  new: 
Perugino  is  revived  and  Guido  Reni  is  heralded. 
For  the  Madonna  di  Foligno,  Leonardo's  Resurrection 
was  determinative;  but  the  ecstatic  head  of  St.  Francis 
and  the  burning  eyes  of  the  Baptist  also  show  that  the 
Hellene  had  become  a  Christian  painter.  In  his 
Transfiguration  he  goes  a  step  further  in  the  amal- 
gamation of  styles:  dramatic  life,  gesticulating  hands, 


RAPHAEL 


POPE  JULIUS  II. 

Pitti  Gallery,  Florence 


Xlbe  XHnion  of  tbe  Stales 


Raphael  signifies  the  acme  of  the  efforts  of  the  sixteenth 
century.  For  if  one  wished  by  a  single  expression  to 
characterise  the  fifteenth  and  the  sixteenth  centuries,  the 
former  should  be  called  the  century  of  individualism, 
the  latter  of  centralisation.  In  the  former  there  ex- 
isted side  by  side  in  Italy  a  multitude  of  independent 
single  states,  every  one  of  which  had  a  part  in  history; 
and  everywhere  lived  rugged  and  genuine  personalities, 
great  in  evil  as  in  good.  In  the  cinquecento  all  this 
ceased.  There  were  no  small  principalities  or  con- 
dottieri,  but  only  one  great  native  power  in  all  Italy — 
the  States  of  the  Church.  In  the  north  a  mighty 
empire  had  been  founded  upon  whose  domain  the  sun 
never  set.^  The  same  spirit  of  centralisation  prevailed 
in  art. 

As  formerly  every  province  of  Italy  had  produced 
its  artists,  now  Rome,  the  capital  of  the  land,  also 
became  the  centre  of  art.  Few  painters  were  born 
there;  they  came  from  the  most  distant  regions  and  the 
most  different  countries  of  the  peninsula.  But  they 
all  streamed  to  Rome  because  they  believed  that  upon 
the  soil  of  the  Eternal  City  the  highest  art  could  be 
produced.  A  single  style  pervades  all  that  they  have 
to  say.   The  masters  of  the  qtudtrocento  were  sharply 

J  Although  the  author  goes  too  far  in  his  statement  that  Rome  was 
the  only  great  native  power  in  all  Italy,  since  Venice  and  Florence 
were  still  independent,  it  is  quite  true  that  it  was  the  chiet  native 
state.  The  empire  in  the  north  referred  to  is  probably  Spain,  upon 
whose  dominions  the  sun  never  set,  and  which  by  acquisition  of  the 
duchy  of  Milan  and  the  union  with  the  German  Empire  under  Charles 
V.  became  also  a  northern  power. — Ec. 


]£nt)  of  tbe  IRenaissance  421 


defined  individualities,  like  the  tyrants  of  the  different 
cities,  who  were  kings  within  their  little  principalities. 
Each  individual  can  be  recognised  at  the  first  glance, 
and  even  the  cabinet-maker  gave  his  work  a  personal 
note.  Their  works  are  dear  to  us,  not  as  products 
of  manual  labour,  but  as  human  documents.  The 
painters  of  the  cinquecento,  on  the  other  hand,  conceal 
their  personality  in  their  creations.  All  individual 
characteristics  are  effaced.  As  in  the  political  world 
there  were  only  two  great  personalities,  the  pope 
and  the  emperor,  so  in  the  artistic  there  were  only  a 
few  kings,  whose  courtiers  the  others  were  satisfied 
to  be.  The  word  "school,"  which  had  no  mean- 
ing during  the  fifteenth  century,  now  acquired  its  aca- 
demic significance.  All  are  vassals,  whether  one  is 
more  inclined  to  Raphael,  or  another  to  Michelangelo. 
To  this  relation  the  composition  of  the  paintings 
corresponds:  one  central  figure  dominating  all  the 
others. 

Perino-del  Vaga,  whose  estimable  decorative  talent 
was  of  much  use  to  Raphael,  painted  at  a  later  period 
the  mythological  frescoes  of  the  Palazzo  Doria  in 
Genoa,  variants  of  what  he  had  painted  under  Raphael 
in  the  Farnesina  and  the  Loggie.  In  his  Deposition 
from  the  Cross,  painted  for  the  church  of  Santa  Trinita 
dei  Monti,  Daniele  da  Volterra  also  appears  as  a  faithful 
follower  of  Raphael,  but  his  David  Beheading  Goliath 
(Louvre)  was  long  attributed  to  Michelangelo.  In  the 
latter  painting  a  preference  for  the  colossal,  for  exag- 


422         Zbc  XHnion  of  tbe  Stales 


gerated  dramatic  action  and  swollen  muscles,  has 
taken  the  place  of  his  former  noble  simplicity. 

The  exaggerated  form  of  Michelangelo  combined 
with  sprawling  movements  and  obscene  sensuality — 
such  is  the  art  of  Giulio  Romano.  He  was  Raphael's 
favourite  pupil  and  later  became  his  most  useful 
assistant.  Most  of  that  which  goes  under  Raphael's 
name  in  the  Stanza  dell'  Incendio,  in  the  Farnesina,  and 
in  the  Hall  of  Constantine,  as  well  as  many  pictures  from 
Raphael's  later  period  (such  as  the  Pearl  at  Madrid, 
and  in  the  Louvre  St.  Margaret  and  the  portrait  of 
Joan  of  Aragon)  is  at  least  in  execution  the  work  of 
Giulio.  After  Raphael's  death  it  was  he  who  completed 
the  Transfiguration  and  the  Coronation  of  the  Virgin. 
None  of  Raphael's  pupils  so  completely  adopted  his 
style,  although  even  then  Giulio  transformed  it  into 
a  crude  and  coarser  art.  In  his  later  works  no  traces 
of  this  tutelage  can  be  observed.  Impetuous  haste 
replaces  gentleness,  and  even  his  Madonnas  are  full  of 
Michelangelesque  elements:  Mary  herself  •  being  a 
mighty  woman  of  gigantic  form,  the  Christ-child  a 
powerful  lad  with  lively  complicated  movements. 
Even  less  do  the  frescoes  in  the  Palazzo  del  Te  at 
Mantua  remind  one  of  his  former  relation  with  Raphael. 
Great  muscular  power,  great  technical  bravura,  and 
coarseness  are  the  characteristics  of  the  pictures  in  which 
he  depicts  thelove  stories  of  Psyche  and  other  Olympians. 
The  Hall  of  the  Giants  especially  contains  the  boldest 
and  wildest  that  Giulio's  strong  hand  created.  Upon 


3Ent)  of  tbe  IRenaissance  423 


the  ceiling  one  gazes  upon  an  apparent  panorama  drawn 
in  perspective:  an  Ionic  columnar  hall  vaulted  with  a 
mighty  cupola  enclosing  the  throne  of  Jupiter.  All 
Olympus  is  in  commotion;  for  the  giants  painted  on 
the  wall  are  storming  heaven.  The  Hghtning  strikes, 
overwhelming  the  malefactors  with  the  columns  and 
walls  of  temples.  There  is  no  decorative  arrangement 
of  the  surfaces,  with  the  result  that  the  flood  of  figures 
is  poured  without  restraint  over  walls  and  ceiling. 
Even  the  boundary  between  the  floor  and  walls  is 
not  preserved;  for  Giulio  had  the  floor  paved  with 
stones  upon  which  he  continued  the  painting  of  the 
wall  in  order  to  heighten  the  dramatic  illusion. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  Florentine  school  pursued 
the  same  paths.  In  characterising  these  masters  it  is 
not  necessary  to  speak  of  them,  but  only  of  the  models 
whom  they  followed.  Francesco  d'  Ubertino,  called 
Bacchiacca,  decorated  furniture  in  the  style  of  the 
quattrocento,  but  attuned  his  colour  to  that  soft  misty 
grey  which  Andrea  del  Sarto  had  brought  into  fashion. 
Franciabigio,  the  fresco  painter  with  whom  the  latter 
laboured  in  the  Annunziata  and  the  Scalzo,  is  also 
known  by  his  furniture  decorations  and  especially  by 
portraits  which  form  subtle  variations  of  Leonardo's 
Mona  Lisa.  Puntormo,  likewise  a  good  portrait 
painter,  was,  in  his  earlier  works,  like  the  Annunciation 
of  1 5 16,  a  clever  imitator  of  the  transparent  silver 
grey  tones  of  Andrea;  but  in  his  later  works  (as  in  the 
Forty  Martyrs  of  the  Pitti  Gallery)  he  degenerated 


424 


Zbc  Ulnion  ot  tbe  Stales 


into  bombastic  imitation  of  Michelangelo.  Ridolfo 
Ghirlandajo,  who  at  first  resembled  Raphael,  repeated 
at  a  later  period,  with  artisan  clumsiness,  what  he  had 
in  his  youth  spoken  with  freshness  and  spirit.  In 
examining  the  youthful  works  of  Francesco  Granacci 
one  is  reminded  of  Domenico  Ghirlandajo,  in  his  later 
works  of  Raphael  or  Michelangelo.  Giuliano  Bugi- 
ardini,  Giovanni  Sogliani,  Domenico  Puligo,  and 
their  numerous  associates  are  all  sympathetic  painters, 
but  their  works  only  reflect  those  created  by  the 
authoritative  masters. 

The  further  the  century  progresses  the  rarer  artistic 
individuality  becomes.  Portrait  painting,  indeed,  for 
a  time  remains  fresh.  Bronzino  especially  has  left 
a  series  of  portraits  which  not  only  determined  the 
character  of  court  painting  for  all  Europe,  but  in  their 
sincerity  are  worthy  of  the  best  traditions  of  the 
primitives:  in  line  as  sharp  as  chiselled  medals,  and 
distinguished  in  conception  and  colour.  But  even 
this  master  seems  only  a  survivor  of  the  long  procession 
of  mighty  portrait  painters  produced  by  the  preceding 
epoch.  What  he  still  could  do — the  rendition  of  a 
human  physiognomy  with  characteristic  truth — the 
later  painters  neither  desired  nor  were  able  to  ac- 
complish. If  the  fifteenth  century,  with  its  civil 
wars  which  permitted  every  peasant  lad  to  become  a 
duke,  with  its  bold  recklessness  and  unrestrained 
feeling  of  personal  worth,  also  treated  the  most  indi- 
vidual portraits:  so  the  sixteenth,  which  destroyed 


lBnt>  of  tbe  IRenaissance  425 


the  free  republics  and  the  spirit  of  individualism, 
gave  also  to  its  portraits  a  uniform  character.  Types 
replace  personalities,  or  else  portrait  painting  is 
altogether  avoided,  because  the  dependence  upon 
the  model  cannot  be  reconciled  with  the  retention  of 
ideal  beauty. 

A  dreary  monotony  extends  on  all  sides.  There  was 
a  very  great  opportunity  for  painting.  Even  the  com- 
missions of  Julius  II.  or  Leo  X.  seem  unimportant 
in  comparison  with  the  gigantic  works  that  originated 
in  the  second  half  of  the  sixteenth  century.  All 
mythological  and  historical  subjects  were  reproduced 
in  colours;  but  no  matter  how  many  figures  occur 
in  the  paintings,  they  are  always  the  same  cliches 
printed  over  another  signature.  The  antique  is  of 
course  the  centre  of  interest,  and  it  is  strange  how 
willingly  it  at  all  times  came  to  the  aid  of  modern 
artists.  At  the  beginning  of  the  century  when  the 
ideals  of  taste  were  delicacy  and  nobility,  the  Apollo 
Belvedere  was  exhumed;  and  with  the  middle  of  the 
century,  when  the  tendency  was  towards  Baroque 
wildness,  the  Farnese  Hercules  and  the  Farnese  Bull 
were  resurrected  from  the  earth.  These  Roman  copies 
of  Lysippan  originals,  although  their  chief  char- 
acteristics are  clumsiness  and  vulgarity,  drew  a  whole 
generation  in  their  trail.  The  head  in  these  works 
is  an  eternal  variant  of  the  absolute  ideal  of  beauty 
prescribed  by  the  Grecian  decadence;  the  body  is  no 
organism  but  a  composition  of  bombastic,  swollen 


426 


XLbc  mnion  of  tbe  Stoics 


limbs  placed  in  effective  contrast.  Because  the  most 
influential  antique  work  happened  to  be  a  Hercules, 
moderns  also  thought  they  must  render  colossal  figures 
and  no  longer  create  men  but  giants. 

This  bombastic  rendition  of  form  is  supplemented 
by  a  declamatory  expression  of  thought.  No  one  any 
longer  expresses  briefly  what  he  has  to  say,  but  all 
shout  with  rhetorical  pathos.  Christ  can  no  longer 
sit  at  the  Last  Supper  without  making  cramped  the- 
atrical gestures;  servants  with  edibles  rush  up  steps; 
the  disciples  wave  their  arms  and  contort  their  bodies. 
Others  feel  that  such  efforts  of  bravura  are  in  the  long 
run  tiresome,  but  the  more  they  reason  and  follow 
the  rules,  the  more  monotonous  their  works  become: 
geometrical  constructions  of  general,  formal  beauty 
which  differ  from  each  other  as  little  as  the  proofs 
of  a  mathematical  theorem.  It  is  significant  that 
the  history  of  Italian  art  was  now  first  transcribed; 
for  the  historical  activity  of  Vasari  ends  the  entire 
development.  The  age  itself  had  the  feeling 
that  its  creative  artery  was  dried,  and  sought  in- 
spiration in  the  past,  repeating  what  had  already  been 
done. 

ITirir.  IRoma  Caput  /BbunM 

So  great  was  the  trend  towards  centralisation  that 
other  countries  also  submitted  to  the  artistic  supremacy 
of  the  Eternal  City.    During  the  second  half  of  the 


1Roma  Caput  /IDuuM  427 


sixteenth  century  Italy  marched  at  the  head  of  civil- 
isation. Italian  generals  won  battles  for  the  em- 
peror, the  king  of  France,  and  the  king  of  Spain; 
Italian  physicians  were  summoned  as  far  as  Scotland 
and  Turkey;  ItaHan  scholars  gave  instruction  in  all  the 
universities  of  France,  Germany,  and  England.  The 
ItaHan  language,  little  known  in  the  fifteenth  century, 
became  the  general  language  of  the  distinguished  world. 
Aretino,  the  Venetian  pamphleteer,  levied  tribute  upon 
all  the  crowned  heads  of  Europe.  Artistically,  also, 
Italy  gave  the  tone  to  all  nations.  As  Italian  masters 
found  occupation  in  the  most  different  courts,  so  the 
northern  painters  thought  they  could  fmd  enlighten- 
ment only  in  the  South.  A  homesick  longing  for  Italy, 
as  in  Goethe's  and  Carstens's  day,  seized  the  best 
spirits,  and  gave  them  no  rest  until  they  had  reached 
the  land  of  their  dreams.  With  privations  and 
sufferings,  labouring  for  their  bread  by  the  way,  they 
made  pilgrimages  to  Rome  as  to  a  sanctuary,  and 
were  never  willing  to  depart  after  having  been  there. 
DQrer's  words:  "Oh,  how  shall  I  freeze  for  lack  of  the 
sun;  here  am  I  a  lord,  at  home  a  sycophant,"  expressed 
their  innermost  soul.  For  they  not  only  admired 
the  art  of  Italy;  they  envied  the  artists  themselves: 
Raphael,  whose  whole  life  was  a  triumphal  procession; 
Michelangelo,  who  treated  popes  as  his  equals;  Titian, 
whose  brush  an  emperor,  Charles  V.,  picked  up. 
They  longed  for  relief  from  the  limitations  of  their 
little  towns  and  from  the  philistine  narrowness  of  the 


428  Xlbe  XDinton  ot  tbe  Styles 


North;  they  wished  to  take  part  in  a  great,  free, 
dignified  existence. 

In  the  Netherlands,  where  a  sort  of  Renaissance 
pervaded  the  entire  spiritual  life,  the  pilgrimage  to 
Rome  began  earliest.  One  artist  especially,  Jan 
Scorel,  a  chivalric  romanticist,  is  a  true  type  of  this 
cosmopolitan  race.  He  inherited  from  infancy  much 
sense  of  gracefulness  and  a  fme  feeling  for  landscape. 
Old,  gnarled  trees, oaks  and  pines,  occur  in  all  his  works. 
Even  before  he  had  trod  the  soil  of  the  South,  he 
dreamt  of  majestic  mountain  ranges,  of  cypresses  and 
pines.  Then  he  seized  the  wanderer's  staff.  For 
some  time  he  remained  in  Germany,  and  even  longer  in 
Carinthia,  where  he  painted  the  altar-piece  at  Ober- 
villach  and  fell  in  love  with  the  young  daughter  of  the 
lord  of  the  castle.  With  a  company  of  Netherlandish 
pilgrims  he  went  from  Venice  to  Palestine— a  journey 
which  became  a  voyage  of  discovery  for  landscape 
painting.  For  while  even  Patinir,  in  order  to  give 
his  landscapes  a  biblical  character,  composed  them 
of  fantastic  sceneries,  Scorel  was  the  first  to  paint  the 
real  Holy  Land.  His  Baptism  of  Christ  in  Haarlem 
must  have  seemed  a  revelation  to  men  for  whom  the 
Orient  was  still  a  locked  and  distant  world  of  fables. 
Returning  to  Italy  he  was  called  to  play  a  curious 
r61e  in  artistic  life.  After  his  countryman,  Adrian  of 
Utrecht,  the  tutor  of  Charles  V.,  had  aijcended  the 
papal  throne,  he  named  Scorel  director  of  the  Belvedere. 
For  three  years  he  lived  in  the  Vatican,  in  those  places 


IRoma  Caput  /IDunbl  429 


over  which  the  spirit  of  Raphael  still  invisibly  hovered. 
What  he  created  in  later  life,  as  canon  of  Utrecht, 
seems  like  a  mournful  echo  of  these  Roman  impressions. 

Exquisitely  tasteful  are  the  landscape  backgrounds 
of  his  Madonnas.  He  was  charmed  by  the  Roman 
villas  with  their  melancholy  mixture  of  old  age  and 
youth,  of  splendour  and  decHne.  There  are  aqueducts, 
overgrown  with  parasites,  the  branches  of  which  hang 
tiredly  down  from  the  weather-beaten  wall;  ruins, 
and  quiet  waters,  in  which  brown  ferns  and  withered 
ivy-clad  foliage  are  reflected.  But  also  as  a  painter 
of  women  he  is  one  of  the  most  subtle  of  the  North. 
Few  beautiful  women  had  previously  been  created  in 
northern  painting.  As  if  only  old  age,  decline^ 
wrinkles,  and  furrows  had  attracted  them,  the  ancient 
Netherlanders  had  only  painted  careworn  women. 
The  few  Nuremberg  women  in  Diirer's  drawings  are 
raw-boned  and  angular,  and  the  bedecked  maidens  by 
Cranach  are  so  unattractive  that  one  would  think  that 
at  that  time  no  beautiful  women  existed  in  the  North. 
What  pleased  the  artists  was  to  draw  hard  faces  with 
sharp  and  keen  technique;  they  took  no  pleasure  in  the 
soft,  misty,  and  maidenly  qualities  of  womanhood. 
Scorel,  the  gentlemanly  cleric,  who  could  not  live 
without  Agatha  von  Schonhoven,  had  a  fme  sense  of 
feminine  charm.  Whether  he  paints  Mary  or  the 
Magdalen,  his  women  are  slender  and  elegant  appari- 
tions of  classic  outline.  With  tender  sentimentaHty 
he  draws  the  harmonious  Hnes  of  a  youthful  neck,  the 


430  ^be  lUnion  of  tbe  Stales 


fragrant  hair  curling  over  the  brow;  and  with  true 
connoisseurship  arranges  the  soft  veil,  the  puffed 
sleeves,  and  the  collar.  He  brought  to  the  Nether- 
landers  who  had  previously  known  only  nun-like 
women  a  new  ideal  of  enchanting  worldly  grace. 

What  connection  existed  between  him  and  the  lovable 
unknown  artist  called  the  "  Master  of  the  Female  Half 
Figures"?  He  much  resembles  Scorel,  except  that  he 
is  often  more  quiet  and  hesitating:  the  Luini  of  the 
North,  a  mild  dreamer  who  speaks  only  tender  loving 
words.  Life  with  him  passes  like  a  beautiful  day,  to 
the  accompaniment  of  soft  music.  He  paints  young 
girls  playing  on  the  spinnet,  raising  a  glass,  or  dreaming 
over  their  music.  Something  innocent  and  harmless, 
yet  melancholy,  pervades  his  graceful,  delicate  works. 
One  would  almost  like  to  say  that  he  saw  women  with 
the  eye  of  a  schoolboy  in  love  for  the  first  time.  For 
pure  as  angels  and  of  flower-like  grace  are  these  gentle 
quiet  children  with  their  soft  movements,  their  lily- 
white  hands  and  pure  brows,  over  which  the  quaintly 
parted  brown  hair  falls  so  simply.  Pictures  like  these 
cannot  be  described  but  only  felt,  and  admired  in 
silence.  This  is  probably  the  chief  effect  the  artist 
himself  intended,  since  he  was  perhaps  no  professional 
painter,  but  passed  his  life  so  quietly  and  so  unnoticed 
that  our  entire  knowledge  of  him  lies  locked  in  his 
pictures. 

Jan  Gossart,  called  Mabuse,  who  made  a  pilgrimage 
to  Italy  even  earlier  than  Scorel,  rendered  important 


IRoma  Caput  /IDunDt  431 


services  as  a  painter  of  the  nude.    In  his  youthful 
works,  Hke  the  portable  altar  of  Palermo,  he  was  still 
a  miniature  painter  in  the  sense  of  Gerard  David. 
Then  one  can  see  in  his  Christ  on  the  Mount  of  Olives 
how  decadent  Gothic  was  transformed  into  Baroque 
confusion.    The  Italian  ideal  of  women  began  to  affect 
him  and  he  painted  the  beautiful  Woman  Weighing 
Gold  in  the  Berlin  Gallery,  which  is  a  faint  echo  of 
the  Master  of  the  Female  Half-Figures.    In  his  more 
ambitious  altar-pieces  also,  as  in  Christ  at  the  House  of 
Simon  in  the  museum  of  Brussels,  Renaissance  elements 
are  commingled  with  the  Gothic.    In  their  severe 
idealism  and  rigid  angularity  many  of  the  figures  re- 
mind one  of  earlier  days;  but  beside  them  are  others, 
which,  if  judged  from  their  soft  smoothness  of  form, 
would  seem  to  have  been  taken  from  Raphael's  painting. 
Even  the  architectural  backgrounds,  in  their  union  of 
Gothic  and  Renaissance  elements,  are  characteristic 
of  this  transition.    In  his  following  works  (several 
Madonnas,  the  Danae  at  Munich,  and  the  picture  in 
Prague  Cathedral)  he  stands  entirely  upon  the  soil 
of  the  cinquecento,  although  a  certain  trivial  tendency 
still  distinguishes  him  from  the  Italians.    In  the  life- 
size  nude  figures  which  he  painted  at  the  end  of  his 
life,  even  the  remainder  of  the  Gothic  intricacies 
is  eliminated.    Majestic  as  ancient  marble  groups, 
the  figures  of  Neptune  and  Amphitrite  arise  from 
the  cell  of  an  antique  temple.    True,  they  are  cold, 
academic,  and  superficial,  but  this  lies  in  the  character 


Ubc  XHnion  of  tbe  Stifles 


of  the  later  ctnquecento.  If  Mabuse  had  continued  to 
labour  in  the  style  of  his  youth  he  would  have  been  a 
belated  survivor  of  the  Gothic;  but  by  attacking 
the  problems  which  the  cinquecento  laid  down  he  ful- 
filled an  historical  mission.  For  without  Mabuse's 
Aphrodite,  Rubens's  Andromeda  could  hardly  have 
been  painted. 

In  the  works  of  Barend  van  Orley  also  there  are  a 
rhythm  and  a  flowing,  elegant  movement  which  assure 
him  an  important  position  among  the  masters  of  the 
Renaissance  in  the  Netherlands.  It  is  not  proper  to 
speak  of  a  repudiation  of  the  national  style  in  the  case 
of  these  painters ;  for  a  style  belongs  not  to  a  people  but 
to  an  age.  In  their  transformation  from  Gothic  to 
Renaissance  artists  they  merely  followed  the  taste  of 
the  epoch,  and  are  no  worse  than  contemporary  Italians. 
Of  course  they  are  deficient  in  personal  characterisation ; 
for  as  the  essence  of  idealism  consists  in  the  elimination 
of  the  individual  and  in  the  subordination  of  the 
personal  to  the  absolute,  so  with  them  the  individuality 
necessarily  receded,  and  there  remains  only  a  general 
uniform  type.  The  development  in  the  Netherlands  is 
a  repetition  of  what  Italy  had  experienced. 

As  late  as  the  second  half  of  the  sixteenth  century 
some  energetic  portraits  were  painted.  The  portrait- 
painter  cannot  confine  himself  to  painting  man  as  such, 
since  resemblance  can  only  be  achieved  by  the  rep- 
resentation of  personal  traits.  Joost  van  Cleve,  Antonis 
Mor,  Frans  Pourbus,  and  Nicolas  Neufchatel  resemble 


IRoma  Caput  /IDunM 


Bronzino  in  style.  They  are  healthy,  powerful  realists 
who,  like  their  predecessor  Massys,  know  neither 
generalisation  nor  retouching;  and  only  in  the  freer 
character  and  quiet  dignity  of  their  portraits  is  their 
Italian  schooling  revealed. 

The  products  of  the  so-called  "grand  painting''  are 
lacking  in  every  personal  imprint.  Michael  Coxie 
was  called  the  Flemish  Raphael,  Frans  Floris,  the 
Flemish  Michelangelo;  and  these  titles  sufficiently 
indicate  that  they  said  nothing  which  had  not  been 
better  said  by  Raphael  and  Michelangelo  before  them. 
Marten  de  Vos,  Barthel  Spranger,  Marten  Heemskerk, 
Cornells  Cornelissen — the  same  statement  applies  to 
all  of  them.  They  covered  enormous  surfaces  with 
beautiful  but  cold  figures,  and  did  not  serve  art,  but 
made  use  of  certain  completed  designs  which  en- 
abled them  to  satisfy  all  commissions  with  schematic 
perfection. 

Proceeding  from  the  Netherlands  into  other  countries 
we  find  the  names  of  the  actors  changed,  but  the  drama 
which  they  play  is  always  the  same.  The  silence  of 
the  grave  lies  over  Germany,  in  which  the  troubles 
following  the  Reformation  had  deprived  art  of  a 
foothold.  The  few  South  German  princes  who  were 
in  a  position  to  play  the  role  of  Maecenas  either  sum- 
moned foreigners  to  their  courts  or  bought  old  masters. 
At  this  time  originated  the  private  collections  which 
formed  the  basis  of  the  Munich  and  Vienna  galleries. 
The  few  painters  who  still  existed  in  Germany  fol- 

a8 


434 


XTbe  mnion  ot  tbe  Stales 


lowed  the  same  path  as  the  Netherlanders.  Bartel 
Bruyn,  the  last  survivor  of  the  Cologne  school,  under- 
took the  role  of  Mabuse.  His  portraits  rank  with 
Holbein's  and  Amberger's  as  the  best  products  of  Ger- 
man portraiture.  In  his  religious  paintings  he  at  first 
continued  the  work  of  the  Master  of  the  Death  of 
Mary,  but  later  was  transformed  into  a  follower  of 
Raphael.  The  family  group  in  the  Munich  gallery  by 
Christoph  Schwartz,  a  Munich  painter  who  studied  at 
Venice,  possesses  the  strong  and  simple  sincerity  of  old 
German  art,  while  at  the  same  time  it  shows  a  har- 
mony of  colour  and  broad  technique  derived  from 
Titian.  His  altar-pieces  also  re-echo  the  full  sonorous 
chords  of  the  Venetian  masters.  Johann  Rottenhammer 
is  more  trivial  and  dainty  and  possesses  a  pleasing, 
superficial  charm.  The  demand  for  decorative  work 
was  supplied  by  Joseph  Heinz  and  Hans  von  Aachen, 
virtuosi  of  the  brush,  whose  work  might  equally  well 
be  Netherlandish  or  Italian. 

French  painting  had  a  very  original  beginning  in 
Jean  Foucquet.  Although  he  had  visited  Italy,  his 
chief  work  in  the  Berlin  Gallery,  representing  Etienne 
Chevalier,  the  favourite  of  Charles  VII.,  and  Agnes 
Sorel,  commended  by  Stephen,  his  patron  saint,  to  the 
protection  of  the  Madonna,  reminds  one  of  Goes,  rather 
than  the  Italian  masters.  The  corresponding  painting 
at  Antwerp  has  a  specifically  French  note.  In  it  the 
Blessed  Virgin  is  represented  with  the  features  of  Agnes 
Sorel,  clad  in  a  short  fashionable  dress  and  princely 


IRoma  Caput  /IDuuDi  435 


ermine  and  suckling  the  Child.  A  piquant  Parisian 
perfume  is  wafted  from  the  work. 

In  the  sixteenth  century  the  two  Clouets,  Jean  and 
Fran(;ois,  still  laboured  in  this  ancient  style.  Jean 
Clouet,  who  was  until  1340  court  painter  to  Francis  I., 
resembles  Holbein  in  the  photographic  truth  with  which 
he  renders  physiognomy.  Fran(^ois  Clouet,  who  suc- 
ceeded his  father  as  court  painter  in  1540,  had  the 
same  severe,  sure  art,  except  that  he  is  more  cos- 
mopolitan and  distinguished,  reminding  us  rather  of 
Bronzino  than  of  Holbein. 

In  fresco  painting  the  same  change  that  occurred 
elsewhere  had  in  the  meanwhile  taken  place.  The 
invasions  of  1  taly  by  the  French  kings  at  the  close  of  the 
fifteenth  century  had  already  established  an  artistic 
connection.  In  their  wars  over  the  duchy  of  Milan 
Charles  VIII.  and  Louis  XII.  not  only  took  along 
their  own  painters  Hke  Jan  Perreal,  but  also  invited 
Italian  artists  to  settle  in  France.  It  is  sufficient  to 
recall  the  mighty  name  of  Leonardo.  With  Francis 
I.  the  real  Italian  Renaissance  in  France  began.  A 
whole  army  of  Italian  artists  was  speedily  summoned 
and  commissioned  to  decorate  the  newly  constructed 
castles.  Fontainebleau  especially  (where  in  the  nine- 
teenth century  Millet,  Rousseau,  Corot,  and  Diaz 
painted)  became  the  French  Vatican.  II  Rosso, 
Primaticcio,  and  Niccolo  dell'  Abbate  were  in  charge 
of  the  decorations — painters  whose  works  one  indiflfer- 
ently  passes  by  in  Italy  and  who  do  not  improve  by 


436  Ube  XDlnton  of  tbe  St\>les 


being  seen  in  France.  Among  their  French  followers 
is  Jean  Cousin,  a  facile  artist  of  profound  knowledge, 
whose  Last  Judgment  contains  many  a  brilliant  theatri- 
cal effect.  It  is  very  instructive  to  compare  the  later 
decorations  of  the  palace  of  Fontainebleau  with  the 
earlier.  The  masters  summoned  to  complete  this 
new  work  were  not  Italians  but  Netherlanders.  But 
Hieronymus  Francken,  the  head  of  the  Netherlandish 
colony,  was  a  pupil  of  Michelangelo's  follower  Frans 
Floris;  and  passing  through  the  halls  one  observes, 
therefore,  no  difference  between  the  Italian  and 
Netherlandish  works. 

The  tendency  towards  centralisation  in  the  cin- 
quecento  led  to  a  complete  uniformity  of  art.  Every- 
thing is  elastic,  polished,  and  elegant.  But  just  as  in 
their  portraits  artists  of  the  most  different  minds 
resemble  each  other  (they  all  wear  the  same  fantastic 
costume  and  assume  the  same  declamatory  attitude), 
so  their  painting  lacks  individual  character.  The 
signatures  only  tell  us  that  this  is  the  work  of  a  German, 
that  of  a  Netherlander,  that  again  of  a  Frenchman. 
What  one  sees  is  always  the  same,  general  and  idealised 
forms,  typical  faces,  ideal  draperies,  carefully  weighed 
composition,  and  an  equally  cold  ceremoniousness  in 
the  expression  of  sentiment.  In  spite  of  all  its  fruit- 
fulness  the  second  half  of  the  sixteenth  century  was 
an  age  of  weariness  and  exhaustion.  The  ideals  of 
the  Renaissance  had  lost  their  spiritual  significance 
and  new  ones  had  not  yet  arisen.    Although  the  great 


IRoma  Caput  /IDunDi  437 


masters  were  dead,  men  still  laboured  with  their 
thoughts,  and  deduced  from  scientific  rules  what  with 
them  had  been  an  expression  of  personality.  As  late 
as  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century  every  land 
and  every  province  had  had  its  own  art ;  now  a  universal 
language,  a  Volapuk  of  art,  has  replaced  the  dialects. 
A  new  development  of  painting  could  only  come  when 
some  great  movement  in  civilisation  gave  it  new 
subjects,  new  problems,  and  new  aims.  These  new 
ideals  were  furnished  by  the  Counter-reformation. 


Cbapter  mn 


SlvwQQl^  ot  IDenice  arib  Spain  agatnet  IRome 
ir,  Xoren30  Xotto 

THE  course  of  the  development  of  art  in  the 
sixteenth  century  was  exactly  the  same  as  in 
the  fifteenth.  The  great  heathen  Renaissance 
was  followed  by  an  ecclesiastical  reaction;  and  as  at 
that  time  the  hurricane  which  descended  with  Savon- 
arola had  been  heralded  long  before  by  thunder  and 
lightning,  so  the  beginning  of  the  Counter-reformation 
goes  back  to  the  decade  following  1520. 

A  strange  tone  is  suddenly  sounded  in  the  activity  of 
the  masters  of  the  Renaissance:  weird,  visionary, 
convulsed  elements  mingle  with  antique  joyfulness  and 
Hellenic  pleasure  in  form.  Michelangelo's  figures  seem 
pursued  by  a  nightmare,  as  if  the  thought  of  the 
Nazarene  would  not  let  them  rest.  The  eyes  of  St. 
John  in  P>a  Bartolommeo's  Entombment,  the  eyes  of 
John  the  Baptist  in  the  Madonna  di  Foligno,  those  of 
St.  Cecilia  and  of  the  Sistine  Madonna — all  betray 
that  even  these  masters  were  touched  by  the  religious 
current  whose  wave  dashed  from  Germany  over  Italy. 

438 


%ovcn^o  Xotto 


439 


But  with  them  the  influence  was  an  external  one;  the 
few  drops  of  Christianity  did  not  mingle  with  their 
Hellenic  blood. 

Conditions  were  different  in  Venice,  which  since  its 
origin  had  been  a  religious  city,  a  Byzantine  outpost  on 
Italian  soil.  During  the  entire  quattrocento  it  remained 
a  bulwark  against  the  Renaissance;  and  even  after  a 
worldly  and  religious  art  had  been  introduced  from 
elsewhere  by  Gentile  da  Fabriano  and  Pisanello,  the 
native  school  of  Murano  held  fast  to  mediaeval  traditions. 
We  remember  how  at  the  close  of  the  century,  when  the 
religious  reaction  passed  through  Italy,  Crivelli  seized 
the  opportunity  once  more  to  resurrect  Byzantinism. 
A  time  indeed  followed  when  Venice,  like  an  isle  of 
Cythera,  was  pervaded  by  worldly  sensuality  and 
joyful  festal  feeling.  No  one  thought  any  longer  of 
heaven,  into  which  the  earth  itself  had  been  trans- 
formed. The  gondoliers  sang,  beautiful  women  laughed, 
and  every  one  seemed  rich,  proud,  and  happy.  It  was 
a  soft  and  sensuous  atmosphere,  such  as  Giorgione 
painted;  a  proud  and  majestic  splendour — that  of 
Titian.  But  although  those  works  form  the  acme 
of  Venetian  art,  no  Venetian  was  among  the  leaders 
of  the  movement.  Aldus  Manutius,  who  made  Venice 
the  literary  centre  of  Humanism,  was  a  Florentine, 
and  all  the  painters  came  from  the  mainland:  Giorgione 
from  Castelfranco,  Palma  from  Serinalta,  and  Titian 
from  Pieve.  Yet  even  in  their  antique  works  these 
masters  preserve  a  holy  solemnity.    There  is  no  longing 


as  with  Correggio,  no  sensuality  as  with  Sodoma. 
Titian,  though  a  heathen,  painted  the  Magdalen  with 
the  skull,  which  almost  heralds  the  art  of  the  Jesuits; 
and  with  a  picture  which  was  no  antique  subject  but 
the  Crown  of  Thorns  his  activity  passed  away.  At 
Rome  Sebastiano  avoided  antique  subjects,  painting 
miracles  and  martyrdoms.  However  much  the  trav- 
eller would  fain  think  of  the  sound  of  mandolins  and 
of  sunshine  when  Venice  is  mentioned,  his  first  impres- 
sion is  the  black  gondola  gliding  gloomily  as  a  hearse 
over  the  dark  green  lagoons.  The  character  of  the 
palaces  is  solemn  and  gloomy;  the  bells  of  Murano 
sound  subdued  and  solemn.  For  Venice  paganism 
remained  an  episode.  The  Renaissance  masters  from 
foreign  cities  were  confronted  even  at  the  beginning  of 
the  sixteenth  century  by  a  native  Venetian,  a  follower 
of  Savonarola  and  the  herald  of  Caraflfa.  Like  a  ghost 
or  a  preacher  of  penance  Lorenzo  Lotto  wanders  in  the 
midst  of  that  joyful,  worldly  race;  and  amid  the 
jubilant  bacchanalian  hymns  of  his  contemporaries 
his  pictures  sound  solemn  as  the  bells  of  Murano. 

Lotto  also,  when  a  young  man,  was  influenced 
by  the  ideas  of  the  Renaissance.  The  cycle  of  his 
works  begins  with  that  Danae  of  the  collection  of 
Professor  Conway  in  London  whom  one  would  not 
be  surprised  to  meet  among  the  works  of  Bocklin. 
In  a  green  meadow  yellow,  blue,  and  white  flowers 
grow;  round  about  trees,  fme  and  erect  as  in  Bocklin's 
Summer  Day,  stretch  into  the  blue  ether.     In  the 


OLorenso  Xotto 


441 


midst  of  the  meadow  sits  a  maiden  in  white  garments 
receiving  in  her  lap  the  shimmering  golden  rain, 
and  a  small  goat-footed  satyr  listens  behind  a 
tree.  But  his  next  picture  belongs  to  a  different 
world  of  ideas.  Upon  the  slope  of  a  steep  precipitous 
cliff  a  half-naked  hermit  kneels  before  the  cross  of  the 
Redeemer.  Swarms  of  ravens  flutter  over  his  head 
while  he  penitently  strikes  himself  with  the  scourge 
in  his  hand.  St.  Jerome  is  Lotto's  second  hero; 
the  old  man  who  turns  away  from  mankind  to  fmd 
rest  in  solitude,  the  tired  greybeard  burdened  by  the 
oppressive  weight  of  the  past. 

Lotto,  the  son  of  conservative  Venice,  arose  as  the 
standard-bearer  of  the  great  religious  past;  for  thus 
the  strange  archaism  of  his  early  works  may  best  be 
explained.  When  his  activity  began,  Giorgione,  Titian 
and  Palma  were  regarded  as  foreign  intruders.  Even 
Giovanni  Bellini  was  considered  a  renegade  to  the 
religious  art  which  his  predecessors,  the  Muranese, 
had  still  comprehended  in  its  majestic  Byzantine 
solemnity.  Lotto  bears  the  same  relation  to  Titian  and 
Giorgione  in  the  sixteenth  century  as  Crivelli  to  Bellini 
in  the  fifteenth.  His  ideal  is  Alwise  Vivarini,  the  last 
survivor  of  the  old  school  of  Murano,  who  in  the 
days  of  Giovanni  Bellini  had  proclaimed  the  gospel 
of  self-renunciation  so  dear  to  Byzantine  art. 

The  pictures  at  Naples,  in  the  Borghese  Gallery, 
Rome,  and  at  Asolo  are  the  principal  examples  of 
Lotto's  Muranese  style.    Cima  had  removed  the  throne 


442 


of  Mary  from  the  solemn  apse  of  the  church  to  the  open 
landscape.  Even  Bellini,  his  teacher,  breaking  with 
the  old  form  of  altars  with  wings,  predelle,  and  lunettes, 
had  treated  altarpieces  as  simple,  decorative  panels 
in  the  manner  of  the  cinquecento.  Giorgione  took  a 
further  step  by  substituting  for  the  humility  of  the 
handmaid  of  the  Lord,  the  love  charm  of  the  worldly 
woman.  There  is  nothing  of  all  this  with  Lotto. 
In  the  apse  of  a  church  with  solemn  and  gloomy 
architecture  stands  the  throne  of  Mary,  or  in  his 
smaller  pictures  the  figures  arise  as  if  out  of  nothingness, 
from  a  dark  background.  He  always  maintained  the 
mediaeval  form  of  the  altar  with  wings  and  predelle. 
Solemn  and  unapproachably  majestic  is  the  expression 
of  Mary,  gloomy  and  troubled  is  the  following  of  saints 
gathered  about  her  throne.  The  wild  men  of  the  desert 
of  Castagno  and  the  old  Donatello,  the  ascetic  hermits 
and  fantastic  preachers  of  Botticelli  are  revived  in 
Lotto's  works.  Especially  does  the  figure  of  the  aged 
Onophrius  in  the  picture  of  the  Borghese  Gallery, 
so  like  King  Lear,  sound  like  the  echo  of  a  convulsed 
time,  when  the  aged  Donatello  designed  his  confused 
reliefs  at  Padua,  and  when  Zoppo  and  Schiavone, 
Tura  and  Bartolommeo  Vivarini  painted  their  harsh, 
ascetic  pictures. 

Meanwhile  Alwise  Vivarini  had  died,  no  one  worked 
at  Venice  in  the  spirit  of  the  past,  and  Lotto  was  not 
strong  enough  to  stand  alone.  Thus,  at  least,  the 
abrupt  change  which  he  made  may  be  best  explained. 


%ovcn^o  Xotto 


443 


After  Muranese  art  had  sunk  into  the  grave  he  sought 
for  other  models,  subhme  beyond  all  doubt.  No  art 
could  be  more  religious  or  rest  upon  a  sounder  founda- 
tion than  the  one  to  which  the  Vicar  of  Christ  gave  his 
blessing.  So  he  set  out  upon  a  pilgrimage  to  Rome, 
not  to  the  Eternal  City,  the  city  of  antiquity,  but  to 
the  centre  of  Christendom.  The  Roman  ideals  which 
the  pope  approved  he  would  make  his  own.  But 
after  he  had  laboured  for  four  years,  from  1 508  to  1 5 12, 
under  the  influence  of  Raphael,  the  result  was  the 
same  as  twenty  years  before  with  Savonarola.  As 
what  he  had  seen  in  Rome  aroused  the  reforming 
spirit  of  the  Dominican  friar,  and  as  the  libertinism 
which  ruled  in  the  most  holy  places  confirmed  him  in 
the  belief  that  a  new  prophet  must  come  to  save  the 
church  from  destruction :  so  Lotto  also,  in  his  associa- 
tion with  the  Roman  artists,  felt  there  that  was  nothing 
Christian  in  Christian  art  as  it  was  then  practised ;  that 
it  was  further  away  from  what  the  church  had  once  hon- 
oured than  were  the  works  of  Bellini,  Titian,  and  Giorg- 
ione  which  he  had  viewed  with  fearful  eyes  at  home. 

The  picture  of  St.  Vincent  Ferrer  which  he  painted 
for  the  altar  of  Recanati  seems  like  a  thunderbolt  of 
the  Counter-reformation  striking  into  the  Venetian 
Renaissance.  Not  only  the  theme  announces  the  spirit 
of  Ignatius  Loyola  (for  Vincent  Ferrer  is  a  saint  whom 
the  Spaniards  honoured  as  an  apocalyptic  prophet); 
but  the  gloomy  monastic  trend,  the  wild  convulsion  of 
the  painting  has  more  in  common  with  Zurbaran  than 


444        XTbe  Struggle  against  IRome 


with  the  cinquecento.  In  the  altar  of  San  Bartolommeo 
at  Bergamo  his  feeling  was  again  quieted;  for  no  senti- 
ment of  battle  but  a  mild  resignation  pervades  the  work. 
Lotto  had,  it  would  seem,  found  a  support  in  a  religious 
movement  which  was  accomplished  at  that  time. 
During  the  pontificate  of  Leo  X.  a  sort  of  society, 
the  Illuminati,  had  been  formed,  to  which  distinguished 
gentlemen  and  cultured  ladies  from  all  parts  of  Italy 
belonged:  "beautiful  souls,"  who  were  as  little  sat- 
isfied with  the  heathen  philosophy  as  with  the  forms 
of  official  religion,  and  professed  a  sort  of  pantheistic 
Christianity.  Was  Lotto  a  member  of  this  Society 
of  the  Divine  Love?"  One  might  almost  believe  so 
in  view  of  his  paintings  during  the  following  years 
(1515-24),  when  quiet  Bergamo  was  his  place  of  resi- 
dence. The  characteristic  feature  of  these  paintings 
is  a  pantheistic  Christianity.  He  feels  himself  in  com- 
munity of  love  with  everything  that  exists.  Nature, 
which  in  the  sense  of  the  Muranese  he  had  formerly 
regarded  as  something  godless,  the  accursed  Golgotha 
upon  which  the  cross  of  the  Redeemer  stood,  has  now 
become  for  him  a  book  written  by  the  finger  of  God; 
the  great  mother  of  all  things  to  whom  man  and  animal, 
tree  and  flower  owe  their  existence.  A  new  religion 
had  revealed  itself  to  him  which  reminds  one  of  Spinoza 
or  of  the  first  enthusiastic  days  of  the  Franciscan 
order  when  the  saint  of  Assisi,  in  reaction  against 
a  rigid  scholasticism,  proclaimed  the  gospel  of  love, 
transferred  the  love  of  God  to  the  whole  world,  and 


Xoren30  OLotto 


445 


addressed  Christ  and  Mary,  men  and  animals,  the 
plants  and  the  stars  of  heaven  as  his  brothers  and  sisters. 

This  change  of  opinion  is  clearly  shown  in  the  type 
of  his  Madonnas.  Gloomy  and  unapproachable  with  the 
Muranese;  a  sibyl,  staring  sadly  with  wide  eyes  into  the 
distance  with  Bellini ;  the  solemn  queen  of  heaven  with 
Titian:  she  has  become  with  Lotto  the  blessed  mother, 
caressing  her  boy,  and  pressing  her  cheek  against  his  in 
beaming  maternal  joy.  Pictures  like  his  Madonna  at 
Dresden  contain  nothing  new  for  the  history  of  art, since 
Leonardo  and  Correggio  had  painted  similar  themes; 
but  they  are  new  for  Venetian  painting,  which  had 
always  imparted  to  the  Madonna  involuntary  and 
apathetic  qualities,  and  had  never  attempted  to  portray 
tender  maternal  love.  The  contrast  between  wealth 
and  poverty  is  overcome.  In  the  older  Italian  paint- 
ings Mary  is  either  soulful,  in  which  case  she  is  the 
poor  maiden,  or  she  wears  costly  garments  and  is  proud 
and  haughty.  Although  Lotto's  Madonnas  are  richly 
clothed,  although  pearls  adorn  their  hair,  and  their 
hands  are  white  and  tender,  they  also  quiver  with 
feeling.  Not  only  under  a  beggar's  garb  but  under  a 
silken  bodice,  a  tender  heart  may  beat  and  the  love 
of  God  may  move. 

This  love  he  imparts  also  to  the  landscape.  Mary 
is  no  longer  enthroned  in  church  but  in  God's  free 
nature.  Wide  and  boundless  the  country  stretches 
before  us,  traversed  by  rivers  which  empty  into  the 
distant  sea.    As  in  a  single  picture  he  attempts  to 


446        Zbc  StruaGle  against  IRome 


render  the  whole  infinity  of  the  universe,  he  also  reveals 
a  power  of  observation  for  minute  objects,  for  tender 
forms  of  the  vegetable  world,  which  no  contemporary 
Venetian  could  rival.  Here  a  rose-bush  in  full  bloom 
hangs  over  the  wall;  there  a  thick  wall  of  jasmines 
forms  the  background  or  branches  of  blossoms  are 
spread  over  the  ground.  If  interiors  are  represented, 
he  paints,  like  a  Dutch  still-life  painter,  cups,  books, 
pots  and  candlesticks.  A  soft  light,  as  if  in  heavenly 
harmonies,  quivers  through  the  room.  Even  his 
frescoes  gave  a  new  expression  of  this  pantheistic 
tendency.  In  contrast  to  Italian  fresco-painting 
in  general,  which  has  a  certain  monumental  sweep 
and  preserves  the  solemn  character  of  tapestry.  Lotto 
disregards  its  decorative  character,  giving  broad  views 
upon  sunlit  streets  and  squares,  where  high  houses 
arise  and  men  move  about  in  daily  traffic.  And  while 
other  masters  gave  their  work  an  architectural  framing 
of  friezes  and  pilasters,  Lotto  eliminates  all  such 
features,  and,  like  the  Japanese  in  their  wood-cuts,  de- 
picts grape  and  cherry  branches  of  the  foreground 
extending  into  the  midst  of  the  fields. 

As  a  portrait  painter,  he  struck  chords  which  are 
echoed  in  no  other  Italian  work.  All  other  portraits  of 
the  cinquecento  are  solemn  representative  pictures. 
The  subjects  are  not  at  ease,  but  seem  as  dignified 
as  if  they  felt  that  the  eyes  of  the  world  were  upon  them. 
People  who  played  an  important  part  in  the  world 
did  not  exist  in  little  Bergamo,  or  such  as  did  were  not 


LORENZO  LOTTO 


PORTRAIT  OF  THE  PROTHONOTARY  GIULIANO 

National  Gallery,  London 


!iLoren50  3Lotto 


447 


congenial  company  for  tranquil  Lotto.  Only  those 
whom  he  loved  and  honoured  were  invited  into  his 
studio,  and  this  circumstance  alone  differentiates  his 
portraits  from  those  of  Raphael  or  Titian. 

Instead  of  the  general  representative  types  of  the 
cinquecento  Lotto  paints  workmen  of  the  spirit,  a 
humanity  which  stands  nearer  to  us  of  the  present 
day  in  thought  and  feeling.  Unconcerned  with  their 
decorative  appearance,  he  does  not  show  them  as  they 
move  in  the  world,  but  in  their  hours  of  introspection. 
Nor  does  he  confine  himself  to  reading  their  countenances 
and  abstracting  their  secrets  Hke  a  father  confessor, 
but  even  seems  to  offer  them  advice,  to  adjure  and 
warn  them;  as  when  in  his  picture  of  the  youth  in  the 
Borghese  Gallery  he  adds  a  skull  amid  rose  or  jasmine 
leaves,  or  in  the  picture  of  the  nervous  man  in  the 
Doria  Gallery  gives  the  age  of  the  subject  as  in  sepulchral 
inscription.  Woman  is  for  him  a  vampire,  who  sucks 
the  life-blood  from  men.  This  thought  seems  to 
pervade  his  groups;  as  for  example  the  Messalina-Hke 
woman  of  the  National  Gallery  with  the  hard,  cold 
glance,  and  at  her  side  the  pale  man  with  trembling 
hands,  and  a  resigned  and  tired  glance. 

The  wonderful  picture  of  Palazzo  Rospigliosi  (Rome) , 
which  is  wrongly  called  the  Triumph  of  Chastity, 
marks  the  conclusion  of  this  period  of  tranquil 
artistic  activity  passed  at  Bergamo.  Although  he 
had  attained  his  fiftieth  year,  he  had  as  yet  expressed 
few  of  the  sentiments  that  had  convulsed  his  youthful 


448        XTbe  Strugale  aaainst  IRome 


soul.  He  therefore  decided  to  see  the  world  again  and 
find  out  what  was  moving  the  artists  there.  So  he 
set  out,  travelled  for  a  while  in  the  Marches,  was  at  the 
sack  of  Rome  in  1 527,  and  in  1 529  returned  to  Venice. 

The  immediate  result  of  these  travels  was  that  he 
united  what  he  saw  into  a  strange  potpourri  of  painting. 
He,  the  brooder  and  the  thinker,  for  a  time  imitated 
Palma,  and  threw  himself  at  Titian's  feet.  But  with 
the  spread  of  the  Catholic  reformation  fate  was  more 
favourable  to  him.  The  mild  and  conciliatory  Con- 
tarini,  who  had  before  this  laboured  for  reform  in 
Venice,  was  joined  in  1527  by  the  gloomy  Neapolitan 
Caraffa.  In  a  garden  by  the  monastery  of  San  Giorgio 
Maggiore  the  friends  of  the  movement  assembled 
weekly  as  guests  of  Abbot  Cortese.  The  nobility, 
the  learned  world,  and  the  clergy  were  all  represented, 
and  the  eyes  of  all  who  longed  for  a  reformation  of 
the  church  looked  in  silent  hope  towards  Venice. 
A  reform  of  art  was  also  intended;  for  CaraflFa  recom- 
mended the  rigid  and  ritual  forms  of  Byzantinism  to 
the  painters  as  the  truest  expression  of  reverential, 
churchly  piety.  There  was  thus  suddenly  awakened 
in  Lotto  a  sense  of  power  similar  to  that  which  Botticelli 
felt  when  Savonarola  confirmed  his  youthful  ideals; 
he  also  would  preach  and  struggle.  He  has  at  last 
found  a  fixed  aim  and  a  true  reason  for  artistic  activity. 
Enthusiasm  and  pathos  radiate  from  his  works:  the 
mighty  figures  of  bishops.  Crucifixions,  and  Madonnas. 

But  for  the  present  paganism  was  still  stronger  than 


Xorenso  Xotto 


449 


Christianity.  Contarini  was  deserted  by  his  followers 
and  Titian,  who  had  in  some  works  professed  Christian- 
ity, returned  to  his  old  Hellenic  ways.  For  Lotto  this 
meant  the  collapse  of  all  of  his  hopes.  He  clung 
helplessly  to  the  most  primeval  masters,  painting 
works  like  the  Crucifixion  at  Milan,  which  seems  a 
gloomy  echo  of  the  trecento;  the  Pieta  of  the  same 
gallery,  which  in  its  grimacing  pain  approaches  Crivelli; 
and  the  altar-piece  of  Ancona,  a  strange  union  of 
Baroque  wildness  with  Muranese  archaism.  The 
altar-piece  of  the  church  of  Santi  Giovanni  e  Paolo 
at  Venice — human  hands  stretched  upwards,  as  in 
Lempoel's  Fate,  with  quivering  longing  for  salvation — 
he  presented  to  the  monks  in  return  for  a  free  burial. 
The  aged  St.  Jerome,  who  sought  in  solitude  refuge 
from  earthly  strife,  again  filled  his  mind.  He  also 
would  have  nothing  more  in  common  with  the  profane, 
and  would  settle  in  some  quiet  corner  of  the  world  to 
end  his  days  as  a  hermit.  He  sold  the  contents  of  his 
studio,  which  included  a  picture  of  the  Rational  Soul, 
another  of  the  Christ-child  Bearing  a  Cross,  and  a  third 
of  the  Conflict  between  Force  and  Happiness,  and 
withdrew  to  Loreto,  where  he  bought  a  place  among 
the  monks.  In  this  sacred  precinct  Lotto  died,  a 
martyr  to  his  faith,  because  his  message  came  too 
soon.  But  the  tendency  heralded  in  his  works  was  the 
one  to  which  the  future  belonged. 


450        TLbc  StvwQQlc  against  IRome 


irir.  ^Tintoretto 

In  the  year  1545  Pietro  Aretino,  the  Venetian 
author,  wrote  a  strange  letter  to  Michelangelo.  As  a 
Christian  he  disapproved  of  the  freedom  which  the 
master  had  taken  in  his  treatment  of  the  Last  Judgment 
It  was  a  scandal  that  such  a  work  should  be  daily  seen 
in  the  greatest  temple  of  Christianity,  upon  the  chief 
altar  of  Jesus,  and  in  the  holiest  chapel  of  the  world, 
by  the  vicegerent  of  Christ  himself.  Although  even 
the  heathens  had  portrayed  Diana  or  Venus  with 
modesty,  Michelangelo  did  not  consider  this  necessary; 
and  his  picture  therefore  was  suitable  for  a  bathroom 
but  not  for  a  church.  It  was  a  blasphemy  to  represent 
the  Heavenly  Father  as  Jupiter  and  the  saints  as  antique 
heroes,  to  transform  the  Madonna  into  a  love  goddess 
and  Christian  martyrs  into  hetcerce. 

It  is  significant  that  this  letter  came  from  Venice. 
Ancient,  rigid  Byzantine  Venice  again  girds  herself 
to  take  a  part  in  the  development  of  Italian  art,  and  to 
supersede  the  Renaissance  of  antiquity  by  a  Renais- 
sance of  the  middle  age. 

But  the  time  was  not  yet  ripe.  As  in  the  fifteenth 
century  Ghirlandajo  had  to  appear  before  Savonarola, 
so  in  the  sixteenth  the  extreme  bound  of  ecclesiastical 
worldliness  had  to  be  reached  before  the  reaction 
could  begin.  The  Ghirlandajo  of  the  sixteenth  century 
came  in  the  person  of  a  stranger,  Paolo  Cagliari,  who 
became   the  painter  of  Venetian   festivities.  Ip  his 


irtntoretto 


451 


brilliant  art  the  worldly  spirit  of  the  cinquecento 
celebrated  its  last  great  triumph. 

An  ancient  author  has  described  a  festival  which 
the  Venetian  Senate  gave  in  honour  of  Henry  III. 
of  France.  Two  hundred  of  the  most  beautiful 
gentlewomen  of  Venice,  dressed  in  white  and  covered 
with  pearls  and  diamonds,  received  him,  so  that  the 
king  thought  that  he  had  suddenly  entered  a  realm  of 
goddesses  and  fairies.  Paolo's  paintings  in  the  Ducal 
Palace  are  of  a  similar  fairy-like  pomp.  The  whole 
splendour  of  Venice  is  there  revealed.  Representatives 
of  the  people  salute  the  doge;  beautiful  women  smile 
down  from  marble  balustrades;  cavaliers  ride  about 
upon  splendid,  prancing  horses.  Allegories  also — 
Loyality,  Happiness,  Gentleness,  Moderation,  and  Re- 
tribution— are  to  be  seen:  at  least,  so  says  Baedeker, 
but  from  the  paintings  one  would  never  know  it. 
For  Veronese  painted  only  beautiful  women;  if  he 
gives  one  a  lamb,  it  is  Gentleness,  if  a  dog  Loyalty. 

Notwithstanding  their  titles,  his  earlier  decorations 
of  the  Villa  Maser  are  no  frosty  allegories.  Landscapes, 
beautiful  Ionic  columns,  guide  the  eye  into  the  distance; 
mighty  nude  figures  in  bold  poses  fill  the  niches  and 
recline  upon  the  architraves:  Venus  surrounded  by 
Loves  and  Graces,  and  Bacchus  with  his  joyous  vine- 
crowned  fauns.  Christianity  and  paganism,  the  nude 
and  the  draped  are  strangely  commingled.  Cupids, 
beautiful  women,  genii,  goldsmith's  work,  and  gleaming 
fabrics  are  heaped  together  in  superb  examples  of  still 


452         TLbc  StruGGle  against  IRome 


life.  The  Olympian  joyfulness  of  the  cinquecento,  in 
no  wise  "sicklied  o'er  by  the  pale  cast  of  thought," 
here  speaks  its  last  word. 

The  above  descriptions  also  show  what  may  not  be 
expected  from  Veronese.  He  is  certainly  a  clever 
decorator  and  an  improviser  of  enviable  facility;  a 
painter  of  great  delicacy  of  feeling.  How  festally 
effective  is  his  red,  recurring  like  a  joyful  trumpet- 
blast  among  the  silver  grey  harmonies  of  his  paintings! 
Yet  one  never  thinks  or  dreams  before  his  works,  but  only 
sees.  Veronese  seems  to  have  come  into  the  world  to 
prove  that  the  painter  need  have  neither  head  nor 
heart,  but  only  a  hand,  a  brush,  and  a  pot  of  paint  in 
order  to  clothe  all  the  walls  of  the  world  with  oil  paint- 
ings. His  panel  paintings  are  a  supplement  of  his 
achievements  as  a  mural  painter.  In  contrast  to 
Carpaccio,  who  discriminates  sharply  between  decorative 
and  panel  paintings,  Veronese  knows  no  such  difference. 
Out  of  a  still  life  of  satin  portieres  and  rustling  brocaded 
robes,  the  head  of  a  woman  appears:  such  are  his  female 
portraits;  powerful  female  figures  clad  in  heavy, 
gold  gleaming  damask,  their  blond  hair  decked  with 
diamonds,  the  neck  with  sparkling  chains,  are  labelled 
Fenus  or  Europa.  If  he  paints  Mary^  she  is  not  the 
handmaid  of  the  Lord  or  even  the  queen  of  heaven, 
but  a  woman  of  the  world,  listening  with  approving 
smile  to  the  homage  of  a  cavalier.  In  light,  red  silk 
morning  dress,  she  receives  the  Angel  of  the  Annuncia- 
tion and  hears  without  surprise — ^for  she  has  already 


XTintoretto 


453 


heard  it — ^what  he  has  to  say;  and  at  the  Entombment 
she  only  weeps  in  order  to  keep  up  appearances. 

Those  luxuriant  festal  suppers  to  which  he  gave  the 
title  of  Christ  in  the  House  of  Levi,  the  Marriage  at 
Cana,  or  the  Last  Supper  are  especially  celebrated. 
In  a  splendid  hall  of  columns  the  festal  board  is  laid 
amid  staircases  and  colonnades  of  marble ;  waiters  move 
busily  about  with  silver  platters  and  crystal  wine-bottles; 
upon  a  festively  adorned  balustrade  musicians  make 
table  music;  while  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  Venice, 
celebrated  painters  and  princes  in  gala  costume, 
assemble  for  the  state  banquet.  Veronese  was  a 
happy  man.  Everywhere  he  goes  there  is  joy  and 
splendour;  everywhere  beautiful  women  smile,  every- 
where there  is  a  maitre  d'  hotel  who  has  prepared  the 
best  of  things.  He  knows  no  want,  but  only  riches; 
no  huts,  only  palaces;  no  sacrifice,  only  enjoyment. 
He  does  not  even  know  of  an  after-world  or  of  the 
fmal  judgment  which  follows,  but  stands  with  both 
feet  upon  the  earth;  nor  can  he  imagine  that  the  Last 
Supper  means  anything  else  than  a  repast. 

Just  so  Ghirlandajo  had  painted  a  hundred  years 
before;  and  the  same  reaction  followed.  On  the  i8th  of 
July,  1573,  Veronese  was  summoned  before  the  tribunal 
of  the  Inquisition  to  answer  for  his  Last  Supper,  which 
to-day  hangs  in  the  Louvre.  Lotto  had  died  a  martyr 
to  his  belief,  but  now  a  shrill  signal  was  sounded; 
Venice  remembered  her  ancient  traditions.  All  that 
the  foreigners  from  Giorgione  to  Veronese  had  created 


Zbc  Stv\xQQlc  aaainst  IRome 


was  not  real  Venetian  painting.  Tintoretto,  like  Crivelli 
and  Lotto,  a  born  Venetian,  rose  up  against  the  joyful 
Veronese  as  the  black  knight  of  the  middle  age,  the 
sombre  priest  of  a  gloomy  art. 

By  his  whole  character  Jacopo  Robusti  was  called  to 
this  role  of  giving  the  first  expression  to  the  gloomy 
pathos  of  the  Counter-reformation.  He  is  described  as 
a  stormy  and  exalted  spirit,  a  fiery  passionate  nature. 
When  he  invited  Aretino  to  come  to  his  atelier,  and  by 
way  of  reminder  of  a  criticism  which  he  had  formerly 
written  t/irust  a  pistol  under  his  nose,  he  reveals  himself 
by  this  one  trait  as  the  predecessor  of  that  wild  race  to 
which  Caravaggio  and  Ribera  belonged.  The  well- 
known  scene  of  the  artist  painting  his  dead 
daughter  by  lamplight  also  heralds  the  time  of  Bea- 
trice Cenci.  Examining  his  bust  in  the  court  of  the 
Ducal  Palace,  the  head  with  furrowed  brow,  the  hollow 
cheeks  and  the  deep-set  staring  eyes,  one  can  also 
understand  how  the  consuming  passion  and  the  charnel- 
house  sentiment  of  his  paintings  were  based  upon 
the  character  of  the  man. 

Like  all  other  Venetians  of  the  day,  Tintoretto  had 
studied  with  Titian,  and  appears  in  his  first  works  as  a 
master  of  the  Renaissance,  tranquil  in  sentiment,  gleam- 
ing and  golden  in  colour.  He  painted  the  radiant 
nudity  of  the  youthful  female  form,  studied  the  play 
and  reflection  of  light  as  it  softly  caresses  a  tender 
back,  and  by  means  of  fairy-like  landscape  imparted 
to  his  pictures  a  solemn  and  majestic  splendour.  To 


Xlintoretto 


455 


his  works  of  this  period  belong  Susanna  in  the  Vienna 
Gallery,  the  slender  Andromeda  in  St.  Petersburg, 
his  Venus  at  Florence;  and  the  most  beautiful  work 
by  him  in  Germany,  Martha's  Supper,  in  the  Augsburg 
Gallery.  His  representation  of  Christ  Washing  the 
Feet  of  his  Apostles  signifies,  in  its  joyful  Renaissance 
spirit,  the  acme  of  his  work  as  a  worldly  painter. 
The  sunlight  floods  the  hall,  and  through  the  rows  of 
mighty  columns  the  eye  falls  upon  shimmering  palaces 
and  the  glittering  mirror  of  the  lagoons. 

As  in  these  paintings  there  are  points  of  contact 
with  Veronese,  so  in  his  portraits  he  resembles  Titian. 
Tintoretto  is  more  one-sided  than  he.  While  in  Titian's 
portraits  the  most  beautiful  women  of  Venice  pass  by, 
among  Tintoretto's  few  women  occur,  and  such  as 
do  are  harsh  and  mannish,  massive  and  heavy.  The 
portraits  of  the  doges  and  procurators  which  he  painted 
in  an  official  capacity  are  the  only  ones  which  reveal 
him  in  his  full  greatness.  Here  also  a  harsh  objectivity 
differentiates  him  from  Titian.  While  the  latter  seeks 
beautiful  poses  and  graceful  movement,  and  by  the 
use  of  columns  and  a  curtain  imparts  to  the  background 
also  a  festal  and  decorative  effect,  Tintoretto's  back- 
grounds are  sombre,  enlivened  with  a  coat  of  arms  at 
most;  and  he  is  unable  to  render  a  beautiful  pose 
because  he  never  paints  entire  figures  but  mostly  a 
three-quarter  piece.  Even  the  hands,  upon  which 
Titian  bestowed  so  much  attention,  he  subordinates, 
as  does  Lenbach,  to  the  head,  either  concealing  them  in 


456        Ube  Struggle  against  IRome 


Danish  gloves  or  completing  them  with  a  few  brush 
strokes.  By  means  of  this  simplification — and  also 
because  he  never  paints  transient  traits,  but  the 
official  mien — he  achieves  even  more  powerful  and 
monumental  effects  than  Titian.  Velasquez  learned 
much  from  Tintoretto's  portraits  of  senators. 

In  his  portrait  groups  he  appears  as  a  predecessor 
of  Frans  Hals.  He  was  the  first  to  paint  pictures 
intended  for  public  buildings  which,  like  the  Dutch 
doelenstukke,  united  a  number  of  officials  in  a  single 
group.  But  while  the  Dutch,  in  order  to  unite  the 
figures,  represented  them  at  a  banquet,  Tintoretto's 
nobili  were  far  too  proud  to  show  themselves  to  the 
people  in  an  exhilarated  condition.  Without  any  bond 
of  union,  without  loss  of  composure,  gloomy  and 
reserved,  they  stand  there,  like  Spanish  grandees  upon 
Italian  soil. 

But  the  real  Tintoretto,  the  diligent  master  workman 
of  the  wild  and  fanatical  style  which  dominated  the 
following  decades,  can  only  be  studied  in  his  religious 
pictures.  It  seems  as  if  suddenly  a  dark  cloud  had 
overcast  the  bright  heaven  of  Venetian  art.  Instead 
of  the  enchanting  festal  music  of  Veronese,  funeral 
marches  and  trumpet  blasts  sound;  instead  of  smiling 
women,  bloody  martyrs  and  pale  ascetics  appear. 

In  order  to  become  a  painter  of  the  Counter-reforma- 
tion Tintoretto  had  formed  a  quite  new  technique. 
In  contrast  to  the  other  Venetians  who  portrayed 
the  nude  in  repose,  he  learned  to  represent  it  in  most 


ITintoretto 


457 


dramatic  action.  By  the  study  of  Michelangelo  and 
the  use  of  the  dissecting  knife,  he  learned  the  extreme 
play  of  muscles  that  could  be  applied  to  his  stormy 
figures.  The  rounded,  classic  forms  of  Titian  were 
not  suitable  for  these  nude  bodies  which,  mflamed 
with  the  ardour  of  faith,  twist  and  contort  themselves 
as  if  in  illness.  No  superflous  flesh  could  make  men 
phlegmatic  or  restrain  the  eccentric  pathos  of  their 
gestures.  He  therefore  introduces  a  new,  emaciated 
and  distended  type  into  Venetian  painting.  His  wo- 
men, especially,  with  their  pale,  livid  features  and  en- 
circled eyes,  strangely  sparkling  as  if  from  black 
depths,  have  nothing  in  common  with  the  soft  ideal, 
of  form  which  he  followed  in  his  youth.  The  colour 
is  used  to  strengthen  the  convulsive  sentiment.  The 
inscription  above  the  door  of  Tintoretto's  studio: 
"The  line  of  Michelangelo,  the  colour  of  Titian,"  is  an 
error.  For  Titian's  colour  resembles  that  of  a  beautiful 
autumn  day,  when  everything  gleams  in  rich  harmonious 
colours,  and  the  sun,  before  sinking  in  the  west,  once 
more  spreads  her  warm,  even  light  over  the  earth ;  but  in 
the  presence  of  Tintoretto's  pictures  one  does  not  think 
of  an  autumn  day,  but  rather  of  a  dismal  night,  when 
the  lightning  flashes  or  the  flames  of  smouldering 
autos  da  je  ascend  to  heaven.  Important  portions  of 
the  painting  He  in  deep  shadow,  while  others  are 
illuminated  in  a  ghostly  fashion  by  harsh  greenish 
lights.  In  place  of  the  rich  harmonies  of  the  Re- 
naissance he  has  substituted  the  gloomy  colour  of 


458        Ube  StruoGle  against  IRome 


the  Baroque;  the  serene  brightness  of  the  Hellenic 
spirit  is  followed  by  mediaeval  night. 

The  celebrated  painting  of  the  Venetian  Academy, 
representing  St.  Mark  freeing  a  slave  from  death  by 
sacrifice,  is  the  first  shrill  trumpet  note.  The  repre- 
sentation of  the  supernatural  interfering  in  the  course 
of  earthly  events  was  a  suitable  theme  for  Tintoretto. 
Head  foremost  the  saint  plunges  down,  seizing  with 
mighty  movement  the  arm  of  the  executioner;  a  majestic 
light  proceeds  from  him,  illuminating  some  details, 
leaving  others  in  deep  shade.  The  symbolic  significance 
is  not  far  to  seek.  The  popes  in  their  free-think- 
ing heathenism  are  the  executioners  of  the  church; 
but  the  Republic  of  St.  Mark  interferes  to  save 
her. 

Then  came  the  frescoes  in  the  church  of  the  Madonna 
del  Orto,  the  Worship  of  the  Golden  Calf  and  the 
Last  Judgment.  Here  also  is  revealed  the  spirit  of  the 
Counter-reformation,  which  in  an  age  of  idolatry 
pointed  to  the  terrors  of  the  last  day.  In  wild  action, 
as  if  the  delay  had  already  been  too  long,  the  angels 
rush  upon  Moses  to  give  him  the  tables  of  the  law.  All 
architectonic  laws  are  dispensed  with:  here  are  clouds 
and  yawning  space,  there  wildly  commingled  masses 
of  figures.  At  the  day  of  the  final  judgment  all  nature 
is  in  uproar,  the  sea  overflows  its  shores,  a  death- 
bringing  flood.  Only  a  few  of  the  risen,  ascending  to 
heaven,  find  mercy;  the  angels  dash  the  rest  down  into 
the  depths.    For  the  whole  world  had  offered  sacri- 


Ube  Spantsb  Scbool 


459 


fice  to  the  idols  of  heathendom  and  lost  the  right  to 
redemption. 

The  fifty-six  paintings  of  the  Scuola  di  San  Rocco 
show  the  whole  greatness  and  boldness  of  this  daemonic 
artist.  While  the  Renaissance  had  avoided  the 
representations  of  physical  suffering  and  given  even 
to  martyrs  the  smiling  expression  of  a  Ganymede,  the 
picture  of  Tintoretto's  St.  Roch  Healing  a  Sick  Man 
already  reveals  the  awful  naturalism  which  the 
Spaniards  later  employed  in  such  representations. 
The  Annunciation,  which  in  Veronese's  painting  is 
received  by  Mary  as  if  it  were  indifferent  town  news, 
Tintoretto  renders  with  a  passion  as  if  it  were  his 
office  to  proclaim  a  rebirth  of  Christ  to  the  world. 
In  his  Crucifixion  he  has  found  methods  of  heightening 
the  feelings  which  were  not  further  developed  until 
the  panoramic  painting  of  the  nineteenth  century. 
In  Cagliari's  and  Robusti's  paintings  two  worlds 
collide.  In  the  former  pleasure  in  life,  the  joy  and 
beauty  of  the  Renaissance  pass  away,  while  the  gloomy 
and  mighty  works  of  Tintoretto  pave  the  way  for  the 
art  of  the  seventeenth  century. 

Hlfir.  zrbe  Spanisb  Scbool 

As  mighty  allies,  the  Spaniards  came  to  the  assistance 
of  the  Venetians.  It  is  no  accident  that  the  portraits 
of  senators  by  Tintoretto  are  reminiscent  of  Velasquez 
and  that  the  last  great  Venetian  master,  Tiepolo,  died 


46o        XTbe  StruGGl^  against  IRome 


in  Madrid.  For  there  was  a  spiritual  connection 
between  the  city  of  the  black  gondolas  and  the  land 
of  the  black-robed  priests.  If  the  history  of  art  dealt 
only  with  spiritual  factors,  the  Spaniards,  would 
outrank  the  Venetians.  For  the  movement  of  the 
Counter-reformation  originated  in  Spain.  Caraffa  had 
been  legate  there  before  he  came  to  Venice  in  1527, 
and  it  was  thence  that  he  brought  those  rigid  Gregorian 
principles  which  culminated  in  the  destruction  of  the 
heretics  and  the  relentless  purification  of  the  church 
^  by  the  return  to  the  discipline  of  the  middle  age. 

Dark,  gloomy  figures  sat  upon  the  throne  of  the  land; 
kings  who  were  buried  not  with  insignia  of  real  power, 
but  in  the  cowl  of  the  Dominicans. 

The  struggle  for  the  faith  was  traditional  with  the 
Spaniards,  who  battled  against  the  paganism  of  the 
Roman  church  during  the  sixteenth  century  as  they 
had  in  the  middle  age  against  the  Moors.  Ignatius 
Loyola  was  the  great  herald  of  the  battle.  By  him  and 
his  creation,  the  order  of  the  Jesuits,  the  mightiest 
impulse  was  given  to  the  great  movement  which  has 
since  that  time  swept  over  the  nations.  As  the  religion 
of  the  Roman  church  had  become  a  veiled  paganism, 
so  Spain  was  the  country  of  convulsed  mysticism, 
which  nowhere  else  revealed  itself  in  such  strange 
forms.  Purely  contemplative  in  Italy  at  the  time 
of  Catherine  of  Siena,  mysticism  became  in  Spain  a 
system  of  self-stupefaction ;  the  art  of  transporting 
oneself  by  external  and  internal  artifices  into  a  con- 


XTbe  Spantsb  Scbool  461 


dition  in  which  a  sensuous  union  with  supernatural 
divinity  was  achieved.  In  this  sense  Ossuna  in  1521 
wrote  his  Abecedario  spiritual,  a  manual  of  the  method 
by  which  one  could  attain  complete  union  with  God. 
But  religious  hysteria  found  its  classic  expression  in 
the  writings  of  St.  Theresa.  According  to  her 
doctrine  the  subject  must  be  absorbed  in  spiritual 
contemplation  of  the  Deity  until  the  approach  of 
the  moment  of  ecstacy,  the  ''immediate  entrance 
of  the  Deity  into  the  soul."  She  especially  empha- 
sises the  fact  that  in  such  ecstacy  there  should  be 
complete  absence  of  volition  in  the  body.  Only  when 
one  is  as  if  dead  in  this  rapture,  the  Sabbath  of  the  Soul, 
a  foretaste  of  paradise  approaches.  The  sensations 
enjoyed,  the  "joys  of  heaven  in  which  the  body  takes 
such  a  strange  part,''  are  described  with  detailed 
exactitude.  The  same  paths  were  pursued  by  Michael 
Molinos  and  St.  Peter  of  Alcantara,  the  begging  friar, 
who  was  composed  only  of  bones  and  dark  brown 
skin,  and  took  the  little  sleep  which  nature  persisted 
in  demanding  sitting  in  his  narrow  cell.  At  the  end  of 
the  cycle  came  those  with  whom  the  supersensuous 
was  transformed  into  sensuality. 

That  this  specifically  Spanish  element  had  not 
yet  been  purely  revealed  in  the  painting  of  the  sixteenth 
century  is  due  to  the  fact  that  art  presupposes  more 
difficult  manual  conditions  than  Hterature.  Until  the 
fifteenth  century  paintings  had  found  no  home  in 
Spain.   The  brilliant  reception  which  Jan  van  Eyck 


462         Zbc  StruGGle  against  IRome 


had  received  there  caused  some  enterprising  Nether- 
landers  to  visit  the  Pyrenean  peninsular,  and  incited 
by  these  foreigners,  native  Spaniards  took  up  painting. 
Juan  Nunez,  Antonio  del  Rincon,  Velasco  da  Coimbria, 
and  Frey  Carlos,  who  laboured  in  Spain  and  Portugal 
during  the  fifteenth  century,  are  Gothic  masters  and 
advocates  of  the  style  which  in  the  Netherlands  was 
represented  by  Roger  and  in  Germany  by  Wohlgemuth. 
As  late  as  the  sixteenth  century  there  laboured  at 
Seville  Pieter  de  Kempeneer,  a  Netherlander,  by 
whom  there  are  a  number  of  Madonnas  of  gloomy 
solemnity  in  German  collections.  Resembling  his 
art  was  that  of  the  Spaniard  Luis  Morales,  whose  style 
has  points  of  resemblance  with  that  of  Massys.  A 
painful,  passionate,  gloomy,  ascetic  character  pervades 
his  works.  In  most  of  them  he  displays  the  Man  of 
Sorrows  sinking  down  under  the  burden  of  the  cross, 
flogged  at  the  column,  or  bleeding  under  the  crown  of 
thorns;  in  others  our  Lady  of  Sorrows,  sometimes  with 
the  body  of  her  Son  in  her  lap,  at  others  looking  upon 
the  cross  with  wild  lamentation.  Like  Massys  he  pre- 
fers half-length  figures.  Although  the  drawing  of  his 
emaciated,  distended  figures  is  archaic  and  angular,  one 
feels  that  this  use  of  the  old  style  is  intentional,  because 
it  appeared  to  the  master  more  pious  than  that  of  the 
Renaissance. 

Portrait  painting  is  represented  by  Alonso  Coello 
and  Juan  Pantoja  de  la  Cruz,  representatives  of  the  style 
usually  identified  with  the  name  of  Bronzino.  As 


Ube  Spanisb  Scbool  463 


in  the  case  of  the  latter,  their  draughtsmanship  is 
careful  and  delicate,  the  treatment  of  costume  and 
ornament  very  detailed,  and  the  colour  of  a  pale,  subtle 
grey.  But  while  with  Bronzino  the  men  wear  a  sword 
and  the  women  hold  a  fan,  at  the  court  of  PhiHp  II. 
no  one  had  his  portrait  painted  without  a  rosary. 
Thus  even  the  portraits  show  that  one  is  not  in  heathen 
I  taly  but  in  the  land  of  religious  struggles. 

As  Spain  never  offered  sacrifice  to  the  gods  of 
Greece,  she  never  had  a  real  Renaissance.  It  is  true 
that  mythological  paintings  by  Titian  were  placed  in  the 
gloomy  Escorial,  and  that  Spanish  painters  journeyed 
to  Italy  to  complete  their  technical  education.  But 
no  one  painted  a  real  antique  subject.  While  the 
pupils  of  Raphael  and  Michaelangelo  are  heathens, 
contemporary  Spaniards,  although  formerly  pupils  of 
the  Italians,  kept  their  faith  pure  and  used  Renaissance 
forms  only  to  paint  religious  scenes :  the  tragic  pathos 
of  the  passion  scenes,  the  ascetic  solitude  of  weather- 
beaten  hermits,  ecstatic  visions,  and  profound  dogmatic 
treatises.  It  is  significant  that  they  went  almost 
exclusively  to  Venice,  which  had  remained  a  bulwark 
of  the  church,  and  had  been  the  first  to  proclaim  the 
ideas  of  the  Counter-reformation. 

Juan  Fernandez  Navarete  and  Vincente  Carducho, 
the  leaders  of  the  school  of  Madrid,  indeed,  use  Italian 
forms;  but  Navarete,  when  he  painted  his  Christ  in 
Limbo,  was  inspired  not  by  a  Renaissance  master,  biit 
by  the  great  painter  of  the  Counter-reformation, 


464        Ube  StruQ^le  against  IRome 


Tintoretto.  In  his  History  of  the  Carthusian  Order 
Carducho  created  one  of  the  monastic  epics  that  Zur- 
baran  at  a  later  period  composed. 

Notwithstanding  Justi's  investigations,  the  chief 
master  of  Toledo,  Domenico  Theodocopuli  of  Crete, 
deserves  a  new  biographer.  For  the  ''pathological 
degeneration  "  of  El  Greco  seems  an  important  symp- 
tom of  the  great  religious  fermentation  which  at  that 
time  had  seized  all  minds.  Pictures  like  his  Purification 
of  the  Temple,  in  which  he  appears  as  a  Venetian, 
express  but  little;  although  the  theme  seems  in  some 
wise  related  with  the  purification  of  the  church  at  that 
time  by  Caraffa  and  Loyola.  But  in  the  work  which 
introduced  him  to  Spain,  Christ  Stripped  of  His  Garments 
on  Calvary,  he  has  freed  himself  from  Titian,  and  now 
seems  a  savage  entering  the  world  of  art  with  impetuous 
primeval  power.  He  displays  a  collection  of  herculean 
figures  composed  of  real  flesh  and  blood,  of  barbaric 
bone  and  marrow.  The  same  quality  gives  his  painting 
of  the  Holy  Trinity  a  primeval,  brutal  grandeur. 
His  picture  in  the  church  of  San  Tome  in  Toledo,  in 
which  the  members  of  a  knightly  order  solemnly  attend 
the  funeral  of  Count  Orgaz,  whose  corpse  is  lowered 
into  the  grave  by  two  saints,  while  Christ,  Mary, 
martyrs,  and  angels  hover  in  the  air — this  painting, 
in  its  abrupt  union  of  actual  with  transcendental, 
already  heralds  the  visionary  painting  of  the  seventeenth 
century.  His  later  works  are  uncanny,  ghostly 
pictures  of  exaggerated  line  and  harsh  colour;  which 


Ubc  Spanisb  Scbool  465 


seem  to  be  executed  in  wax  colours  mingled  with 
the  mould  of  corpses.  In  all  respects  he  seems  a 
strange,  titanic  master;  and  not  until  more  is 
known  of  his  life  will  he  stand  revealed  as  an  artist. 
His  chief  pupil  is  reputed  to  have  been  Luis  Tristan, 
who  painted  night  scenes  with  mysterious-looking 
hermits  and  ascetics  doing  penance.  A  harsh  green 
light  from  above  pulsates,  as  in  the  case  of 
Tintoretto,  through  certain  parts  of  the  painting, 
while  the  remainder  is  lost  in  the  gloom  of  the 
background. 

Of  the  masters  who  laboured  at  Valencia,  Vicente 
Juanes  is  traditionally  reputed  to  have  received  his 
education  in  the  school  of  Raphael.  Although  he  has 
been  called  the  Spanish  Raphael,  there  is  little  of  the 
Raphaelesque  in  his  pictures  of  the  Martyrdom  of 
St.  Stephen.  The  movements  are  hard  and  angular, 
the  colours  harsh  and  brusque;  the  heads,  of  a  pro- 
nounced Jewish  type,  are  painted  without  reference 
to  any  ideal  of  beauty.  Francisco  de  Ribalta,  who 
travelled  no  farther  than  northern  Italy,  was  attracted 
by  the  affmities  of  colour  which  he  found  there.  But 
although  influenced  by  Correggio's  light  and  shade, 
with  the  technique  of  the  smiling  Italian  he  painted 
gloomy  Spanish  subjects:  cloistered  figures  in  white 
hoods;  Mary  and  John  returning  from  the  grave  of 
the  Lord;  Luke  and  Mary  seated  in  a  lonely  nocturnal 
landscape,  wrapped  in  deep  thought;  and  the  En- 
tombment of  Christ,  likewise  a  night  scene,  with  flickering 
30 


466        Zbc  StruQGle  against  IRome 


stars  and  mighty  figures  of  angels  holding  the  pale 
body  of  the  Redeemer. 

In  Seville,  where  Pedro  Campana,i  the  Nether- 
lander, had  laboured,  Luis  de  Vargas  was  the  first  to 
enter  the  paths  of  the  cinquecento.  But  he  also  is 
no  Renaissance  master.  It  is  unlike  the  cinquecento 
to  introduce  a  heavenly  vision  into  his  Adoration 
of  the  Shepherds  and  to  paint  a  goat  and  the  straw 
with  the  naturalistic  joy  of  a  Ribera.  In  his  principal 
work,  the  Genealogy  of  Christ  in  the  cathedral  of 
Seville,  the  figures  are  said  to  have  been  taken  from 
Raphael,  Correggio,  and  Vasari.  It  is  all  the  more 
strange  how  he  translates  these  masters  into  Spanish, 
and  with  the  borrowed  forms  treats  a  dogmatic  theme 
never  painted  by  an  Italian.  Juan  de  las  Ro6las,  a 
pupil  of  Tintoretto  at  Venice  and  a  clergyman  by  pro- 
fession, was  the  first  to  give  the  favourite  subjects 
for  Spanish  devotion  a  classic  form.  The  Mother  of 
God  hovering  upon  a  crescent  in  the  clouds,  adored 
by  a  Jesuit  in  ecstatic  devotion,  is  his  principal  theme. 
In  his  work  the  Death  of  St.  Isidore  earthly  and  heavenly 
are  directly  juxtaposed.  Below  is  a  representation 
of  monks  given  with  the  exactitude  of  Zurbaran,  above 
angels  with  palms,  song-books,  and  flowers,  fluttering 
through  the  luminous  aether.  Francisco  Herrera  is 
known  outside  of  Spain  by  the  great  picture  of  the 
Louvre,  St.  Basil  Dictating  his  Doctrine.    His  saints, 

»  This  is  the  Spanish  form  of  the  name  of  Pieter  de  Kempeneer  by 
which  he  is  usually  known. — Ed. 


Ube  Spanisb  Scbool  467 


with  their  flashing  eyes  and  majestic  gestures,  are 
mighty  as  primeval  kings. 

The  Spaniards  of  the  sixteenth  century  assume  a 
peculiar  position.  Technically  they  are  pupils  of  the 
Italians.  Like  Pacheco  and  Cespedes,  they  reflect 
much  over  the  aims  of  true  art,  and  are  concerned, 
like  all  others  at  that  time,  with  beauty  of  line  and 
noble  composition.  But  the  spirit  which  pervades 
their  work  is  the  spirit  of  Jesuitism, — the  spiritual 
tendency  to  which  the  future  belonged.  Venice  and 
Spain,  the  city  of  the  Byzantines  and  the  land  of  re- 
ligious struggles — these  two  powers,  contrary  to  the  will 
of  the  popes,  encompassed  the  Counter-reformation. 
They  reminded  Rome  that  she  was  not  only  the  city 
of  antiquity  but  also  the  city  of  St.  Peter.  The 
movement  which  was  now  accomplished  has  been  called 
the  "  Hispanisation  of  the  Catholic  Church." 


3600ft  m 

tTbe  Seventeentb  mt>  leiQbtecntb 
Centuri€0 


469 


Cbapter  H 


UtaUan  painting  in  tbe  Seventeentb  Centura? 
I.  Zhc  Sptrtt  of  tbe  Countec-IRcformation 

The  Gods  in  Exile,  the  title  of  a  fanciful  sketch  by 
Heine,  would  also  be  an  appropriate  designa- 
tion for  this  chapter.  In  Leo  X's  day  the  gods 
of  Olympus  had  taken  possession  of  the  Christian 
heaven.  Men  lived  and  moved  in  antiquity,  to  such  an 
extent  that  the  most  sacred  monuments  of  Christian  re- 
ligion gave  place  to  new  structures  conceived  in  the 
antique  spirit.  In  place  of  the  ancient  basiUca  of  St. 
Peter  a  temple  arose  in  antique  proportions,  a  Panthe- 
on suspended  in  the  air."  The  Vatican,  the  residence  of 
the  pope,  was  filled  with  the  masterpieces  of  antique 
art.  The  purpose  of  a  crusade  to  which  he  summoned 
the  nations  was  not  to  recover  the  Holy  Sepulchre; 
he  hoped  to  fmd  Greek  codices  in  Jerusalem.  In 
life  also  the  spirit  of  Hellenism,  the  joyous  sensuousness 
of  the  ancients  reigned.  Not  the  princes  of  the  apostles, 
Peter  and  Paul,  but  the  heathen  philosophers  Plato 
and  Aristotle,  were  immortalised  by  Raphael  as  the 
rulers  of  spiritual  life. 
Now  the  reverse  of  the  medal  appeared.  The 
471 


472 


irtalian  paintino 


German  Reformation  became  more  and  more  threaten- 
ing, not  only  in  Germany  but  also  in  England,  the 
Netherlands,  and  France.  Whole  provinces  were 
conquered  by  Protestantism;  and  even  the  soil  of  Italy 
was  undermined.  This  had  to  be  checked.  The 
Roman  church  had  to  reform  her  life  in  such  a  manner 
as  to  deprive  her  opponents  of  cause  for  blame  and 
to  satisfy  her  own  adherents.  Not  of  her  own  accord 
but  under  compulsion  by  Venice  and  Spain,  the 
decision  was  made.  Since  the  man  who  himself  gave 
the  signal  for  the  revulsion  had  mounted  the  Roman 
throne  under  the  title  of  Paul  IV.,  the  ancient  oaths  of 
the  Popes:  "We  promise  and  swear  to  encompass  the 
reform  of  the  church  universal  and  of  the  Roman 
court,"  was  no  longer  regarded  as  a  mere  formula. 
The  spirit  of  the  Renaissance  had  not  the  power  to 
rule  the  nations.  The  popes  again  recognised  that 
Christianity  was  their  only  hold,  the  very  reason  for 
their  existence.  Repentant  and  with  a  sudden 
change,  they  returned  to  the  Catholic  ideal  which  the 
Renaissance  had  denied.  Epicureanism  was  followed 
by  fasting  and  castigation,  the  friends  of  paganism 
by  the  inquisitors. 

The  plan  in  the  beginning  was  to  conquer  the  hostile 
elements  with  iron  and  blood.  The  order  of  the 
Jesuits  received  the  commission  to  watch  over  the 
mind  in  the  sense  of  ancient  Dominican  theology. 
Just  at  that  time  the  triumphant  course  of  science  had 
begun  with  the  appearance  of  Copernicus,  Galileo, 


Ube  (Iounter««1Reformatton  473 


Cardanus,  Telesius,  Campanella,  and  Giordano  Bruno. 
Banishment,  funeral  pyres,  and  racks  took  care  that 
the  investigating  thought  should  not  lift  its  head  too 
high.  Poetry  also  submitted  to  the  autocratic  church. 
Torquato  Tasso,  the  son  of  the  Renaissance  ended  in 
a  convent,  holding  dialogue  with  spiritual  apparitions. 
No  longer  antique  writers  but  Augustine  and  Thomas 
Aquinas  dominated  his  thoughts. 

Art,  especially,  seemed  at  first  banished  from  the 
new  system.  As  men  had  formerly  regarded  the  works 
of  antiquity  with  religious  piety,  they  now  considered 
them  pagan  idols.  In  so  far  as  they  were  not  destroyed 
or  removed  from  public  places,  care  was  taken  to 
change  them  in  accordance  with  the  Christian  spirit. 
A  statue  of  Minerva  which  stood  before  the  Capitol 
received  a  cross  instead  of  a  spear,  in  order  that  it 
might  signify  Christian  Rome.  From  the  columns 
of  Trajan  and  Antoninus  the  urns  with  the  ashes  of 
the  two  emperors  were  removed,  and  replaced  by  the 
statues  of  Peter  and  Paul,  as  an  expression  of  the 
''triumph  of  Christianity  over  heathendom." 

The  works  of  the  masters  of  the  Renaissance  were 
also  subjected  to  a  strict  control,  particularly  as 
regards  their  nudity.  Because  its  nudity  seemed 
offensive,  Michelangelo's  Last  Judgment  was  bedecked 
with  those  rags  which  still  deface  it.  The  artists 
themselves  became  so  prudish  that  they  were  trans- 
formed into  penitentiary  preachers.  Ammanati,  a 
Florentine  sculptor  of  the  time  of  Leo  X.,  "after  the 


474 


UtaUan  painttna 


mercy  of  God  had  opened  his  eyes,"  begged  the  Grand 
Duke  Ferdinand  for  permission  by  means  of  draperies 
to  transform  into  Christian  virtues  the  nude  statues 
of  gods  which  he  had  created  for  the  garden  of  Pitti 
Palace  thirty  years  before;  and  in  1582,  "in  bitterest 
repentance  over  the  errors  of  his  own  youth,"  in  an 
open  letter  to  the  Florentine  artists  he  warned  them 
'*to  desist  from  all  portrayal  of  the  nude,  lest  they 
offend  God  and  give  men  a  bad  example." 

Meanwhile  the  council  of  Trent  had  fixed  orthodox 
doctrine  as  regards  ecclesiastical  pictures,  and  had 
assigned  to  the  bishops  the  duty  of  seeing  that  it  was 
strictly  carried  out.  In  1 564  Andrea  Gilli  da  Fabriano 
wrote  his  Dialogo  degli  errori  dei  pittori,  wherein  he 
subjected  the  moral  value  of  the  frescoes  of  the  Vatican 
to  severe  criticism.  In  his  treatise  De  piduris  et 
imaginihus  sacris  Molanus  in  1570  further  developed 
these  unfavourable  criticisms ;  this  was  followed  in 
1585  by  the  Trattato  della  nohilitd  delta  piUura  by 
Romano  Alberti,  and  in  175 1  by  Gregorio  Comanini's 
Figino.  The  Discorso  intorno  alle  imagini  sacre  e 
profane,  published  in  1582  by  Gabriele  Paleotti,  arch- 
bishop of  Bologna,  shows  with  especial  clearness  the 
art-hating,  fanatical,  and  puritanic  spirit  which  at 
first  dominated  the  Counter-reformation. 

But  only  in  the  beginning:  for  herein  consists  its 
great  difference  from  iconoclastic  Protestantism.  This 
is  the  great  thought  which  the  Catholic  church  never 
forgot :  at  all  times  to  treasure  art  as  a  mighty  ally  of 


Ube  Countcr^lReformation  475 


religion.  After  the  church  had  for  a  moment  thought 
of  throwing  art  into  shackles,  she  immediately  recog- 
nised what  an  invaluable  propaganda  had  been  lost. 
Instead  of  banishing  art  she  made  use  of  it:  instead 
of  subjugating  it  she  began  to  employ  it  as  an  effective 
means  of  agitation,  and  confronted  cold  and  sober 
Protestantism  with  the  splendid  pomp  of  the  ancient 
church.  The  splendour  of  the  Eternal  City  should 
have  a  dazzling  and  overpowering  effect  upon  every  one 
who  trod  the  sacred  soil.  If  art  had  formerly  only 
served  aristocrats  of  the  spirit  and  the  personal  in- 
clinations of  the  popes,  it  must  now  conquer  the 
masses,  and  be  the  enticing  siren  who  should  lead 
back  the  doubters  into  the  bosom  of  the  church. 
A  nervous  artistic  activity  suddenly  began  in  all  parts 
of  Italy.  Not  only  did  modern  Rome  at  that  time 
receive  the  form  which  it  has  preserved  until  the 
present  time  but  everywhere  men  builded,  carved,  and 
painted.  But  the  quiet,  cool,  and  solemn  art  of  former 
days  war  incapable  of  solving  the  new  problems.  A 
strong  stimulating  potion  had  to  be  offered,  and  the 
strongest  effects  achieved.  For  the  gorgeous  or  the 
crude,  that  which  was  comprehensible  to  the  masses, 
alone  could  win  them.  Into  all  branches  of  art  this 
new  spirit  enters. 

If  the  architecture  of  the  closing  sixteenth  century 
was  reserved  and  cold,  so  that  of  the  seventeenth  is 
pompous,  oppressive,  and  confusing.  The  latter  does 
not  attain  effects  by  quiet  beauty  of  line,  but  blinds 


476 


irtaUan  painting 


the  eye  with  the  glittering  splendour  of  material  used, 
and  to  an  even  greater  extent  shocks  the  nerves, 
using  music  and  incense  as  accessories.  As  if  seized 
by  wild  frenzy  the  columns  tower  and  twist.  The 
interior,  formerly  evenly  lighted,  now  seem  to  fade 
into  the  infinite.  Here  everything  beams  in  brilliant 
splendour;  there  a  mystic  twiUght  spreads  through 
gloomy  chapels.  Above,  where  formerly  a  flat  ceiling 
rested,  the  heaven  seems  to  open  and  angels  carried 
on  golden  clouds  storm  about.  If  the  pictures  of  the 
seventeenth  century  be  considered  in  these  surroundings 
the  change  in  subject,  form,  and  colour  is  at  once 
understood. 

As  regards  the  subject-matter  of  painting,  the  change 
is  this,  that  what  the  Renaissance  painted  most  is 
now  painted  least,  and  what  was  once  painted  least  is 
now  painted  most.  The  rarest  subjects  treated  in 
the  sixteenth  century  were  pictures  of  martyrdoms. 
The  Olympian  joyfulness  which  pervaded  the  age 
disliked  to  linger  over  painful  things.  Christ  had 
become  a  beautiful  Olympian,  Mary  the  queen  of 
heaven.  A  time  the  conceptions  of  which  were  so 
Hellenic,  did  not  wish  to  see  its  gods  bleed  and  suffer. 
The  council  of  Trent  found  the  art  of  the  Renaissance 
objectionable  just  because  it  did  not  adequately 
portray  the  self-sacrificing  spirit  of  the  martyrs. 
The  true  province  of  art  was  to  move  even  the  hardest 
heart  by  the  presentation  of  the  awful  sufferings  of 
the  saints.   As  the  Renaissance  had  praised  the  power 


Ube  (Iounter*=1Retormation  477 


of  the  human  body  to  enjoy,  so  the  Counter-reformation 
therefore  glorified  its  power  to  suffer.  Pictures  of 
Christ  crowned  with  thorns  and  of  the  Mater  Dolorosa 
form  the  central  feature,  and  the  legends  of  the  saints 
were  searched  for  the  most  shocking  deeds  of  blood. 
Poison,  dagger,  and  cord,  drawing,  strangling,  burning 
— all  such  subjects  were  represented.  St.  Andrew  is 
nailed  to  the  cross,  St.  Simon  struck  with  a  club,  St. 
Stephen  stoned,  and  St.  Erasmus  is  disembowelled. 
The  whole  technique  of  the  torture-chamber  is  revealed, 
and  instruction  is  given  in  all  the  accessories  of  the 
Inquisition. 

As  well  as  the  representation  of  suffering,  in  the 
sixteenth  century  all  deformities  had  been  timidly 
avoided.  Of  the  many  representations  of  dwarfs, 
idiots,  blind  men,  lepers,  and  maniacs  enumerated  in 
Charcot  and  Richer's  Representation  of  Deformities  and 
Sicknesses  in  Art,  not  a  single  one  belongs  to  this  age 
of  joyful  sensuality.  In  the  seventeenth  century, 
as  in  the  days  of  Grunewald  and  the  elder  Holbein, 
sores,  caries,  lameness,  blindness,  and  insanity  are 
represented  with  joyful  zest.  * 

The  representation  of  old  age  was  also  unpopular 
in  the  sixteenth  century,  and  even  saints  like  John, 
the  desert  preacher,  had  been  transformed  into  radiant 
young  men.  Now  aged  prophets  and  hermits  with 
shrivelled,  starved  bodies,  flabby,  leathery  skin,  and 
harsh  weather-beaten  forms  appear  in  great  numbers. 
There  was  no  lack  of  models,  for  Paul  IV.,  in  order  to 


478  irtaUan  painting 

show  living  examples  of  penitent  asceticism,  imported 
into  Italy  real  hermits,  who,  as  in  the  days  of  St.  Jerome, 
inhabited  the  cliffs  of  Dalmatia. 

That  all  these  paintings  are  only  busts  or  three- 
quarter  figures  is  likewise  characteristic.  The  sixteenth 
century  in  its  search  for  rhythmic  movement  had  pre- 
ferred the  full  figure.  Now,  since  the  chief  emphasis 
lies  in  the  ecstatic  expression  of  the  head,  a  bust 
suffices.  These  longing  half-figures  with  raised  eyes  " 
had  appeared  in  all  ages  of  convulsed  religious  life.  In 
the  days  of  Savonarola,  Perugino  was  the  first  to  use 
them:  and  when  the  German  Reformation  had  thrown 
its  shadow  over  Italy,  Raphael  came  with  his  Cecilia 
and  Titian  with  his  Magdalen.  In  the  pictures  of  the 
Counter-reformation  the  same  feeling  is  expressed, 
but  in  a  more  abrupt  and  passionate  manner.  Re- 
pentance (as  in  case  of  Peter),  inspired  writings 
(as  with  the  prophets),  and  castigation  (St.  Jerome) 
present  ever  varying  motives. 

The  sixteenth  century  had  treated  principally  antique 
subjects.  Its  pleasure-loving  artists  were  more  at- 
tracted by  the  joyful  assembly  of  the  gods  of  Greece 
than  by  the  figures  of  Christianity:  for  in  the  former 
they  could  celebrate  love  and  the  radiant  splendour 
of  the  nude.  The  Counter-reformation  had,  at  least 
in  its  first  stages,  avoided  everything  antique.  Domen- 
ichino  even  paints  St.  Jerome  punished  by  the  angel 
for  his  love  of  Cicero.  But  in  spite  of  restriction  to 
biblical  and  legendary  subjects,  chastity  did  not 


XTbe  (rounter^lReformation  479 


increase.  On  the  contrary,  instead  of  the  healthy 
sensuaHty  of  the  past  a  perverse  and  hysterical  sen- 
suality appears.  They  had  been  too  long  accustomed 
to  portray  sensuality :  the  Venetians  in  their  pictures  of 
Venus,  and  Correggio  in  his  lo  sinking  into  blessedness. 
Similar  subjects  were  still  painted,  only  with  Christian 
titles.  What  had  formerly  been  called  Venus  was  now 
the  Magdalen,  and  lo  was  transformed  into  St.  Theresa. 
Magdalen  also  displays  the  charms  of  her  body  and 
Theresa  kisses  with  all  the  passion  of  which  a  woman 
is  capable;  but  Magdalen's  nudity  creates  no  offence, 
because  she  repents  of  her  sins,  and  Theresa's  kisses 
are  holy,  because  they  are  pressed  not  upon  the  lips 
of  man  but  upon  the  feet  of  the  Crucified  One.  It  is 
a  similar  sensuality  to  that  expressed  in  literature  by 
Zinzendorf  when  he  sings  of  the  lance  thrust  and  the 
wound  in  the  side  of  Christ: 

"  Du  Seitenkringel,  du  tolles  Dingel, 
Ich  fress  und  sauf  mich  voll." 

As  formerly  they  had  searched  through  classic 
authors,  so  now  they  searched  through  the  Bible 
for  erotic  scenes ;  and  what  they  found  there  was  not  as 
harmless  as  the  joyous  legends  of  the  Hellenes,  but 
such  scenes  as  Lot  and  his  daughters,  the  expulsion  of 
Hagar,  the  two  elders  peeping  at  Susanna  in  the  bath, 
or  Herodias  confounding  by  her  dance  the  senses  of 
old  Herod.  If  Judith  is  represented  with  especial 
frequency  as  the  murderess  of  Holofernes,  the  reason 


480 


•fftalian  painting 


probably  is  that  the  thought  was  akin  to  the  episode 
of  Beatrice  Cenci. 

Other  possibilities  of  smuggling  in  profane  charms 
were  offered  by  the  legends  of  the  saints.  They 
painted  Agnes,  the  maiden  of  thirteen  years,  who, 
because  she  would  not  marry  a  heathen,  was  brought 
into  a  house  of  prostitution;  but  her  long  hair  was 
spread  over  her  body  like  a  mantle  and  angels  brought 
her  a  garment.  They  painted  Christina  beaten  by 
her  father,  and  Apollonia  whose  teeth  were  torn  out. 
Even  more  popular  is  the  martyrdom  of  Agatha 
because  in  it  sensuality  and  cruelty  are  even  more 
closely  related. 

The  possibility  of  returning  to  antique  subjects 
was  created  by  first  representing  only  such  as  were 
consistent  with  the  sentiment  of  the  Counter-reforma- 
tion. Such  subjects  were  presented  in  antique  martyr- 
doms: the  flaying  of  Marsyas,  Prometheus  bound. 
Dido  upon  the  funeral  pyre,  Cato  stabbing  himself, 
and  Seneca  opening  an  artery  in  the  bath;  in  longing 
subjects  with  raised  glance,  like  Lucretiaor  Cleopatra; 
in  antique  hermits  like  Diogenes,  or  in  examples  of 
filial  piety,  as  Cimon  in  prison  comforted  by  his 
daughter  Pera. 

Finally,  an  entirely  new  domain  of  painting  was 
opened  to  the  seventeenth  century  in  its  pictures  of 
visions.  In  this  domain  also  the  religious  art  of  the 
past  had  taken  the  initial  steps.  Giotto  had  painted 
St.  Francis  receiving  the  stigmata;  for  the  artist  of  the 


XTbe  Count cr^slRef or mation  481 


age  of  Savonarola  the  apparition  of  Mary  to  St.  Bernard 
was  of  great  importance;  and  Raphael  in  later  life 
painted  his  Sistine  Madonna  and  the  Transfiguration. 
But  in  all  of  these  works  the  taste  of  the  Counter- 
reformation  for  the  miraculous  was  not  sufficiently 
emphasised,  and  the  Holy  Conversations  of  an  earher 
period  were  even  less  satisfactory  in  their  unaffected 
simplicity.  For  the  blessing  of  having  visions  is  only 
conceived  in  a  condition  of  religious  ecstasy;  the  saint 
cannot  be  in  repose,  but  must  be  lost  in  longing 
fervour  and  heavenly  joy.  The  oppressive  character 
of  the  sentiment  is  heightened  when  no  witnesses  are 
present,  and  Mary  mystically  floats  into  the  cell  of  the 
lonely  monk. 

The  same  transformation  as  in  the  subjects  may  be 
noted  in  the  forms.  Under  the  overpowering  influence 
of  the  antique,  the  late  Renaissance  admitted  only  of 
universal  and  idealised  forms.  Everything  individual 
was  considered  vulgar,  and  in  consequence  portrait 
painting,  which  is  compelled  to  follow  nature,  was 
only  tolerated  as  a  subordinate  branch.  "  No  great 
and  extraordinary  painter,"  it  was  said,  "was  ever 
a  portraitist;  for  such  an  artist  is  enabled  by  judgment 
and  acquired  habit  to  improve  upon  nature.  In 
portraiture,  however,  he  must  confine  himself  to  the 
model  whether  it  be  good  or  bad,  with  sacrifice  of  his 
observation  and  selection;  which  no  one  would  like  to 
do  who  has  accustomed  his  mind  and  his  eye  to  good 
forms  and  proportions."  In  abrupt  contrast  to  these 
31 


482 


irtaUan  painting 


aesthetics,  the  seventeenth  century  saw  the  rise  of  a 
series  of  mighty  portrait-painters:  Velasquez,  Frans 
Hals,  and  Rembrandt.  Religious  art  itself  again 
becomes  portrait-painting,  and  crude  fidelity  to  nature 
takes  the  place  of  general  beauty.  The  supernatural 
has  all  the  more  wonderful  effect  when  it  towers  in 
tangible  reality  in  the  material  world.  For  the  saints 
they  sought  poor  old  peasants  with  overworked  figures 
and  weather-beaten  faces.  The  pictures  of  martyr- 
doms, formerly  rhythmic  compositions  of  swinging 
motion,  are  depicted  with  a  merciless,  brutal,  butcher- 
like reality.  In  paintings  of  visions  all  the  external 
manifestations  of  epilepsy  and  hysteria  are  rendered 
with  naturalistic  truth.  Indeed,  the  conception  of 
a  ''grand  style"  is  strange  to  this  age.  While  the 
sixteenth  century  had  eliminated  all  accessories  in 
order  to  attain  a  monumental  effect,  the  seventeenth 
in  its  religious  paintings  heaps  up  fruits,  birds,  fishes, 
goats,  cows,  bowls,  and  bundles  of  straw — everything 
calculated  to  occupy  the  eye  of  the  people — into 
veritable  examples  of  still  life.  The  desire  to  see  such 
things  was  so  great  that  when  Caravaggio  introduced 
a  water  bottle  and  a  flower  vase  into  one  of  his  first 
paintings  he  awakened  a  storm  of  enthusiasm.  Por- 
trait-figures in  contemporary  costume,  which  the 
Renaissance  had  banished  from  historical  compositions, 
are  again  introduced;  just  as  in  the  quattrocento,  only 
that  the  pictorial  view  of  the  seventeenth  century  is 
exactly  the  opposite  of  that  of  the  fifteenth. 


IReliGious  painting  483 


As  the  latter  was  the  age  of  detailed  execution  and 
miniature  painting,  so  the  seventeenth  is  that  of  a 
broad  bravura.  The  masters  take  pleasure  in  mixing 
fat,  rich  colours,  in  applying  them  with  broad  brush, 
and  in  arranging  artistic  details  into  a  harmonious 
whole.  The  later  cinquecento,  which  only  appealed  to 
the  refmed  eye,  had  placed  the  principal  weight  upon 
the  language  of  Hne.  The  seventeenth,  which  appeals 
to  gloomy  sentiment  and  found  in  music  the  greatest 
stimulant  to  awaken  it,  at  the  same  time  discovered 
the  power  of  colour  to  strike  responsive  emotional 
chords.  The  effect  of  its  pictures  depends  not  upon 
lines  but  upon  blending  masses  of  colour;  not  upon 
rhythmic  but  upon  pictorial  composition,  held  together 
by  the  treatment  of  light,  and  formed  in  accordance 
with  the  masses  of  light  and  shade. 

Naturally,  such  revolutions  are  not  suddenly  ac- 
complished. The  brothers  Carracci,  who  as  old  men 
survive  into  the  new  century,  belong  also  as  artists 
more  to  the  cinquecento  than  to  the  Baroque  period. 
It  is  true  that  in  their  subjects  the  new  spirit  of  the 
age  is  expressed;  for  they  painted  martyrdoms,  visions, 
and  ecstacies.  At  the  same  time,  however,  they  are 
partisans  of  the  antique,  and  completely  under  the 
influence  of  a  worldly  and  mythological  spirit.  They 
extol  Juno  as  much  as  Mary,  and  Jupiter  as  much  as 
Christ.   And  it  is  especially  to  be  noted  that  in  the 


484 


iralian  jpaintina 


treatment  of  the  new  religious  subjects  they  use  the 
traditional  forms  of  the  cinquecento. 

At  the  appearance  of  the  Carracci  the  problem  was 
to  prepare  the  technical  foundation  for  a  new  develop- 
ment of  art. 

"Because  the  arts  of  design  from  day  to  day  are  losing  mo.  e  of  their 
original  beauty,  and  on  account  of  the  lack  of  a  good  school  are 
sinking  into  increasing  rudeness,  we  propose  the  foundation  of  an 
academy  over  which  men,  able  and  experienced  in  their  art,  shall  pre- 
side; who  shall  exhibit  to  the  students  the  most  important  master- 
pieces of  Rome,  in  order  that  every  one,  in  accordance  with  his 
talent,  may  imitate  them.*' 

Such  is  the  language  of  the  Bull  of  Sixtus  V.  in  1593, 
authorising  the  foundation  of  the  Academy  of  St. 
Luke;  but  the  Carracci  had  at  an  earlier  period 
followed  the  same  path.  They  pointed  out  that 
the  age  of  the  Mannerists  had  been  an  epoch  of  super- 
ficial and  rapid  painting.  In  order  to  attain  excel- 
lency like  that  of  the  classic  painters,  the  student 
must  in  serious  and  conscientious  labour  abstract 
from  the  creation  of  the  past  great  epochs  what  was 
most  suitable  to  learn  and  teach,  extract  it  and  render 
it  useful  for  the  present.  In  order  to  accomplish  this 
theory  they  founded  the  Academy  of  Bologna,  that 
Accademia  degli  Incamminati  ("of  those  upon  the  right 
road ")  to  which  all  the  young  people  from  Italy 
soon  flocked.  A  rich  collection  of  plaster  casts, 
medals,  and  drawings  of  celebrated  masters  was 
collected  as  the  materials  of  study,  and  a  library  of 
aesthetic  books  was  acquired.    The  artistic  programme 


IReUaious  painting  485 


of  the  Academy  is  well  stated  in  the  sonnet  which 
Agostino  Carracci  dedicated  to  the  Bolognese  painter 
Niccolo  deir  Abbate: 

"  Chi  farsi  un  bon  pittor  cerca  e  desia, 
II  disegno  di  Roma  habbia  alio  mano, 
La  mossa  coll'  umbrar  Veneziano 
E  il  degno  colorir  di  Lombardia, 

Di  Michel  Angiol  la  terribil  via, 
II  vero  natural  di  Tiziano, 
Del  Correggio  lo  stil  puro  e  sovrano 

E  di  un  Raffael  la  giusta  simetria." 

The  Carracci  are  not  quite  as  eclectic  as  would  ap- 
pear from  this  sonnet.  Although  they  regarded  the 
present  as  an  age  of  decline,  they  could  not  themselves 
escape  the  change  of  times.  It  therefore  happens 
that  we  fmd  in  their  works  many  things  which  they 
should  in  theory  have  avoided,  because  they  were 
entirely  out  of  harmony  with  the  classic  profession 
of  faith.  They  often  attempted  strong  effects  of  light 
and  colour  and  a  powerful  realism.  There  are  etchings 
by  them  which  have  more  in  common  with  Tiepolo 
than  with  the  cinquecento.  Even  the  celebrated 
work  upon  which  the  three  brothers  proved  their  power, 
the  cycle  of  frescoes  in  the  Farnese  Palace,  is  not 
mere  imitation.  The  different  elements  are  indeed 
harmoniously  united.  The  antique,  the  Farnesina,  the 
ceiling  of  the  Sistine  Chapel  and  the  Villa  Maser — 
everything  is  carefully  assimilated  with  conscious 
eclecticism.  For  the  stories  of  the  gods  on  the  ceilings 
Raphael's  style  rather  than  Giulio  Romano's  was  de- 
terminative.   The  mighty  figures  of  Hermes  supporting 


486 


irtaUan  patntina 


the  frieze,  the  giants  who  hold  the  medalHons  of  the 
ceihngs,  are  famiHar  from  the  Sistine  Chapel;  and  the 
mural  decorations  are  antique  statues  translated  into 
painting.  But  the  masks,  the  shells,  and  the  puffed 
draperies  are  in  no  wise  classic  but  quite  Baroque. 
However  much  they  endeavour  to  adopt  only  the 
classic,  they  were  nevertheless  under  the  influence  of 
the  exaggerated,  bombastic  feeling  of  form  which 
dominated  their  time,  and  they  created  new  things 
in  unconsciously  following  this  modern  taste. 

They  have,  therefore,  in  the  history  of  art  a  strange 
double  position:  they  are  at  the  same  time  Baroque 
painters  and  cinquecentists,  heralds  and  stragglers. 
Often,  without  their  own  knowledge,  the  new  spirit 
breaks  through  the  traditional  scheme;  but  more  often 
their  work  is  purely  collected  activity  and  learned 
retrospection.  They  laboured  in  accordance  with 
rules  and  precepts  derived  from  the  past  epoch,  and 
in  the  application  of  these  aesthetic  principles  to  the 
new  subjects  which  the  seventeenth  century  demanded, 
the  result  was  often  a  mixture  without  character.  For 
in  art  form  and  content  are  identical.  As  little  as  the 
antique  artist  could  have  expressed  the  pathos  of 
the  Pergamenes  in  forms  of  Praxiteles,  so  little  could  the 
new  fermenting  wine  of  the  Baroque  be  kept  in  the 
old  bottles  of  the  cinquecento.  Their  pictures  of 
martyrdoms  give  the  impression  of  anatomical  demon- 
strations because  over  all  the  scenes,  even  the  most 
cruel,  the  marble  coldness  of  classicism  lies.  The 


IReltGtous  ipatntina  487 


half-figures  in  which  they  depict  religious  devotion  and 
ecstacy  have  a  smooth,  academic  effect.  As  Laocoon 
was  the  model  of  their  martyrdoms,  so  Niobe,  the 
Mater  Dolorosa  of  antiquity  who  just  at  that  time 
had  been  resurrected,  became  the  prototype  of  their 
emotional  figures.  Whether  the  effect  was  sadness  or 
ecstacy,  pain  or  blessedness,  the  foundation  was  always 
the  same  normal  academic  head.  The  works  of  the 
Carracci  are  important  as  the  first  in  which  there  were 
border  conflicts  between  the  new  sentiment  and  the  old 
language  of  form.  But  the  spirit  of  the  Baroque  and 
aesthetics  of  the  cinquecento,  the  convulsed  sentiment  of 
the  Counter-reformation  and  the  serene  beauty  of  the 
antique,  could  not  be  united  into  a  harmonious  whole. 

Not  until  the  works  of  their  successors  did  the 
naturalistic  elements  become  more  prominent.  One 
would  imagine  that  a  pupil  of  Raphael  had  painted 
the  celebrated  Aurora  of  the  Palazzo  Rospigliosi  in 
Rome,  so  well  has  Guido  Reni  succeeded  in  transport- 
ing himself  into  the  spirit  of  the  past;  so  classic  are  the 
outlines  of  the  light  hovering  figures;  so  truly  cinque- 
centist  is  the  colour  in  its  bright  and  pleasing  harmony. 
But  the  same  master  who  wears  the  garb  of  the  class- 
icists with  such  surety  has  also  created  works  in  which 
the  antique  nobility  of  form  is  quite  supplanted  by  the 
naturalistic  power,  the  pathos,  and  the  sentimentality 
of  the  Baroque.  To  these  belong  the  great  picture  of 
the  Berlin  Museum  in  which  he  depicts  with  powerful 
naturalism  the  visit  of  the  hermit  Antony  to  the  hermit 


IFtaUan  patnUno 


Paul.  Here  also  belong  certain  presentations  of  the 
Pieta  and  the  Assumption,  a  series  of  martyrdoms 
(especially  the  Crucifixion  of  Peter,  in  which  he  created 
the  model  for  such  subjects),  and  those  numerous  half- 
figures  with  eyes  cast  heavenwards,  who  illustrate, 
especially  in  their  theatrical  superficiality,  the  forced, 
artificial  character  of  this  new  ecclesiasticism. 

A  greater  realistic  power,  a  certain  primeval  and 
coarse  element  appear  in  the  works  of  Domenichino. 
While  Guido  sometimes  became  soft  and  theatrical, 
Domenichino  always  seems  as  a  clumsy  and  crude 
and  honest  fellow.  In  his  Diana's  Hunt,  for  example, 
there  is  no  academic  emptiness;  everything  is  of  virile 
harshness  and  bronze-like  precision.  In  his  Death  of 
St.  Jerome  he  paints  the  decay  of  an  aged  body  with 
astonishing  bravura.  How  time  brought  truth  to 
light  and  the  pure  teaching  of  Christianity  triumphed 
over  the  superstition  of  the  Renaissance,  is  the 
subject  of  his  powerful  ceiling  frescoes  of  the  Palazzo 
Costagneti  at  Rome. 

As  regards  coloui"  Francesco  Barbieri,  called  Guercino, 
is  the  most  important  master  of  the  school.  His 
frescoes  in  the  Villa  Ludovisi  are  characterised  by  bold 
movement  and  powerful  light  effects;  his  Burial  of 
Petronilla  by  fine  colour  and  a  naturalistic  power.  All 
the  bonds  which  united  the  art  of  the  Carracci  with 
the  Renaissance  are  here  torn  asunder;  Guido,  as  well 
as  Domenichino  and  Guercino,  already  stood  under  the 
influence  of  the  man  who  had  in  the  meanwhile  an- 


IReUgious  palntino  489 


nounced,  far  more  abruptly  than  the  Carracci,  the 
ideal  of  the  new  time — Caravaggio.  The  life  history  of 
this  uomo  jantastico  e  hestiale  would  yield  a  fme  criminal 
romance.  He  was  born  at  Caravaggio  near  Bergamo, 
where  Lotto,  the  first  master  of  the  Counter-reforma- 
tion, passed  the  happiest  years  of  his  life.  His  father 
was  a  stone-mason,  and  as  his  assistant  the  son  went  to 
Milan  and  for  four  years  earned  a  livelihood  at  his 
father's  trade.  But  on  a  certain  day  he  stabbed  a  work- 
man and  fled,  loaded  with  the  curse  of  blood,  to  Venice, 
where  Tintoretto,  the  second  master  of  the  Counter- 
reformation,  crossed  his  horizon.  In  the  meanwhile 
he  had,  without  having  visited  an  academy,  learned 
how  to  use  brush  and  colours,  and  was  employed  at 
Rome  by  the  Cavaliere  d'  Arpino,  half  as  an  assistant, 
half  as  a  servant.  Here  he  was  discovered  by  the  painter 
and  art-dealer Prospero, who  ordered  pictures  from  him. 
One  of  these  pictures  was  bought  by  Cardinal  del 
Monte,  who  conceived  an  interest  in  the  young  man. 
Caravaggio  seemed  to  be  in  a  safe  haven;  for  the 
different  churches  ordered  altar-pieces  from  him,  and 
even  the  pope  sat  to  him  for  a  portrait.  But  the  stone- 
mason could  not  be  transformed  to  a  well  mannered 
academician.  With  wild  comrades  he  wandered  about 
in  taverns,  disputing  and  quarrelling,  and  always  ready 
to  plunge  his  dagger  into  any  one  who  did  not  share  his 
opinion.  An  act  of  this  kind  made  him  impossible  at 
Rome  and  he  wandered  like  a  nomad  from  village  to 
village,  finally  landing  at  Naples.    Here,  too,  he  re- 


490 


•fftaltan  paintino 


ceived  commissions  and  the  past  was  forgotten.  But 
the  demon  again  seized  him.  As  the  CavaHere  d'  Ar- 
pino  had  decHned  to  fight  a  duel  with  him,  a  mason's 
son,  Caravaggio  resolved  to  become  a  knight  of  Malta 
in  order  that  he  might  as  a  nobleman  compel  his  rival 
to  give  him  satisfaction.  He  therefore  went  to  Malta 
and  accomplished  his  purpose.  For  the  portrait  of  the 
grand  master  of  the  order,  which  to-day  hangs  in  the 
Louvre,  he  received  the  cross  of  Malta  and  a  present  of 
a  gold  chain  and  two  slaves.  In  gratitude  for  these 
favours  he  wounded  one  of  the  knights  and  was  thrown 
into  prison,  but  soon  escaped  into  Sicily  where  he 
painted  large  altar-pieces  in  Syracuse,  Messina,  and 
Palermo.  Not  until  his  return  to  Naples  did  fate 
overtake  him.  The  knights  of  Malta  had  hired  ruffians 
who  one  evening  waylaid  him;  blow  followed  blow,  and, 
severely  wounded,  he  determined  to  escape  to  Rome  in  a 
boat;  for  at  the  intercession  of  a  cardinal  the  pope 
had  assured  him  of  pardon.  But  the  bleeding  man 
excited  suspicion.  He  was  held  by  a  coastguard  and 
placed  under  arrest,  until  his  identity  was  proven. 
When  he  returned  to  the  shore  his  boat  had  been  stolen 
by  brigands.  Robbed  of  his  possessions  exhausted  and 
dying,  he  dragged  himself  as  far  as  Porto  d'  Ercole, 
where  he  perished  from  his  wounds  at  forty  years  of  age. 

Think  for  a  moment  of  the  artists'  biographies  of  an 
earlier  day.  At  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century 
when  Castiglione  wrote  his  Cortegiano,  that  antique 
graviias  which  he  designates  as  characteristic  of  a 


IReUQtous  ipatntino  491 


perfect  cavalier,  was  characteristic  also  of  painters. 
They  wandered  upon  the  heights  of  life  and  were 
accustomed  to  associate  with  princes  as  with  equals. 
This  aristocratic  generation  was  followed  in  the  second 
half  of  the  century  by  a  generation  of  scholars.  Their 
portraits  resemble  professors;  they  associated  with 
scholars  and  poets,  themselves  wrote  poems  and  books 
upon  archaeology,  aesthetics,  and  the  history  of  art; 
they  arranged  conferences  in  which  lectures  were  given 
on  the  true  aims  of  art.  In  Bologna,  the  seat  of  an 
ancient  university,  this  learned  art  experienced  its 
last  after-flower;  then  the  reaction  came. 

From  the  people  themselves  the  reaction  against  the 
libertinism  of  the  church  issued.  Not  until  pressed 
by  the  people  did  the  church  itself  proceed  to  reforms. 
So  also  in  the  days  of  Roger  van  der  Weyden,  the  peo- 
ple had  furnished  the  first  painters  of  the  reaction. 
The  aristocrats  were  succeeded  by  plebeians,  the 
.thinkers  by  men  of  nature,  who  could  wield  only  the 
brush  but  not  the  pen.  A  new  class,  in  immediate  touch 
with  nature  but  separated  from  the  formalities  of  the 
academies,  entered  the  development  of  art.  They  are  all 
from  the  people,  one  of  them  the  son  of  a  mason,  another 
of  a  day  labourer.  Not  one  of  them  visited  an  academy 
or  received  learned  instruction;  nor  did  they  grow  up 
in  large  cities,  where  the  sight  of  works  of  art  at  an 
early  period  guides  the  taste  into  certain  directions. 
They  came  from  the  country  or  from  cities  like  Naples, 
which  had  as  yet  played  no  part  in  the  artistic  develop- 


492 


IFtalian  ipaintiuG 


ment  of  the  past.  They  were  thus  lacking  in  the  ad- 
vantages connected  with  development  from  a  long 
line  of  ancestors.  Their  art  is  sturdy,  wholesome,  and 
occasionally  crude.  A  cultivated  taste  schooled  by 
study  of  the  old  masters  like  that  of  the  Carracci  could 
only  feel  indignation  over  this  brutal  crudity,  this 
clumsy  copying  of  nature.  But  such  plebeians  were 
necessary  in  order  to  break  the  ban  of  tradition.  As 
at  the  time  of  the  Revolution  the  guillotines  had  to 
be  erected  in  order  that  the  Third  Estate  should  come 
to  its  own,  so  this  new  plebeian  race  of  artists  could 
only  establish  itself  by  force,  poison,  and  the  dagger. 
As  in  Castagno's  days,  they  are  all  wild  comrades  whose 
names  belong  quite  as  much  in  the  gallery  of  great 
rogues  as  in  that  of  great  painters. 

Caravaggio's  appearance  is  like  the  sudden  irruption 
of  some  primeval  force  of  nature.  He  comes  from  the 
country  with  the  confidence  of  a  peasant  who  fears 
nothing,  and  has  powerful  elbows  to  push  everything 
aside  that  stands  in  this  way.  With  the  same  barbaric 
abruptness  as  Courbet  in  our  own  days,  he  struggles 
against  the  academies  and  declares  that  nature  should 
be  the  only  teacher.  To  her  he  wishes  to  owe  every- 
thing, nothing  to  art.  The  more  wrinkles  his  model 
has  the  better  he  is  pleased.  Porters  and  beggars, 
strumpets  and  gypsies  are  used  in  his  religious  pictures, 
and  he  takes  pleasure  in  callous  hands,  torn  rags,  and 
dirty  feet.  In  harsh  contrast  to  the  Renaissance, 
which  had  recognised  only  the  distinguished,  the  pie- 


IReUGtous  IPaintino  493 


beian  Caravaggio  will  acknowledge  the  existence  of 
beauty  only  among  the  lower  classes,  and  sets  himself 
up  only  as  the  democratic  painter  who  raised  the  lowest 
classes  to  a  place  of  honour.  His  St  Matthew  in  the 
Berlin  Gallery  is  a  crude  proletarian  of  uncouth  great- 
ness. In  his  Death  of  Mary  in  the  Louvre,  he  paints 
the  corpse  of  a  drowned  person  with  swollen  body  and 
clumsy  feet,  distended  in  the  cramp  of  death.  In  his 
pictures  of  martyrdoms  like  that  of  Sebastian  or  his 
Christ  Crowned  with  Thorns,  he  shows  no  beautiful 
youth,  but  a  suffering  man  whose  body  is  bent  with 
agony.  In  a  picture  of  the  Madonna  at  Loreto  a 
pilgrim  with  a  torn,  greasy  cap  in  his  hand  kneels  before 
her,  and  another  shows  his  swollen  footsoles,  besmeared 
by  the  dust  of  the  streets. 

On  account  of  this  "apish  imitation  of  misshapen  na- 
ture" Agostino  Carracci  caricatured  him  as  a  hairy  wild 
man,  with  a  dwarf  at  his  side  and  an  ape  upon  his  knee; 
Baglione  denounced  him  as  the  Antichrist  of  paint- 
ing and  the  destroyer  of  art.  But  history  can  only  extol 
him  as  the  man  who  was  the  first  to  plant  himself  firmly 
upon  the  new  domain  of  the  new  century.  While  with 
the  Carracci,  as  with  the  Mannerists  of  the  cinquecento, 
rule  still  prevails,  here  a  powerful  personality  speaks. 
None  of  the  Eclectics  could  have  painted  a  work  of 
such  power  and  grandeur  as  Caravaggio's  Entombment 
in  the  Vatican  Gallery.  He  was  possessed  of  enormous 
ability,  and  his  paintings  are  dashed  off  with  wild 
bravura.    Even  the  illumination  heightens  the  power- 


494 


IFtaUan  patnrtnG 


ful  effect.  Although  he  at  first  preferred  the  golden 
tone  of  Venice,  he  later  painted  his  altar-pieces  as 
gloomy  as  if  the  light  had  fallen  from  above  into  a 
cellar,  or  as  if  the  figures  were  moving  in  a  dungeon. 
Some  parts  are  harshly  and  sharply  illumined,  others 
are  lost  in  the  gloom  of  the  background.  Although 
Tintoretto  had  previously  used  similar  effects,  it  is 
perhaps  no  accident  that  the  man  who  often  sat  in 
gloomy  prison  cells  further  developed  this  "cellar- 
window  style/'  And  as  the  church  had  to  yield  to 
the  claims  of  the  people  so  the  plebeian  Caravaggio 
triumphed  over  the  distinguished  academicians.  Under 
his  influence  Guido,  Domenichino,  and  Guercino  de- 
veloped from  pupils  of  the  Carracci  into  naturalists.  He 
was  followed  also  by  Luca  Giordano  whose  pictures  of 
martyrdoms  and  those  half-figures  of  aged,  weather- 
beaten  saints  are  to  be  found  in  all  European  galleries. 
Finally,  the  "democratic  painter"  was  followed  by 
those  who  proceeded  from  religious  to  folk  pictures. 

iri[1[»  ITbe  (5enre  ipicturc 

The  Italians  of  the  sixteenth  century  did  not 
further  develop  the  genre  elements  in  the  works  of  the 
quattrocento.  To  paint  scenes  from  daily  life,  or  to  give 
by  means  of  pleasing  accessories  a  genre  trend  to  relig- 
ious paintings,  was  not  in  the  spirit  of  a  time  for  which 
only  that  which  was  noble  and  significant  had  value. 

But  in  the  Netherlands,  the  land  of  kirmesses.  the 
pleasure  in  such  things  was  so  great  that,  even  in  this 


Ubc  6enre  picture  495 


epoch  of  monumental  conceptions,  a  few  progressed 
along  the  paths  which  Quentin  Massys  had  trod  with 
his  Money  Changers.  All  the  burlesque  scenes  which 
Lucas  van  der  Leyden  and  the  Little  Masters  of 
Germany  had  treated  in  their  line-engravings  found  a 
place  in  painting.  As  it  was  necessary  to  appear  so 
solemn  and  measured  in  religious  pictures,  they  took 
pleasure  in  relating  in  such  little  works  real,  crude,  and 
vulgar  things. 

The  little  paintings  of  Jan  van  Hemessen  are  there- 
fore very  drastic.  He  conducts  the  beholder  into 
public  houses  where  men  drink  with  slovenly  women, 
absolving  his  conscience  by  adding  the  inscription  The 
Prodigal  Son  by  way  of  a  moral.  Cornelis  Massys,  the 
son  of  Quentin,  relates  farces  such  as  in  our  own  day 
Schroedter  and  Hasenclever  painted;  for  example,  a 
driver  who  has  allowed  women  to  mount  his  waggon, 
and  who  while  courting  one  is  robbed  by  another. 

Pieter  Aertsen  approached  genre  painting  from  an- 
other side.  Just  because  the  religious  painting  of  the 
sixteenth  century  excluded  still-life  from  its  works, 
a  reaction  had  soon  to  occur.  For  there  were  also 
painters  who  took  more  pleasure  in  these  gay  acces- 
sories than  in  biblical  figures.  Aertsen's  works  show 
how  still-life  was  gradually  emancipated.  He  painted 
fruits,  vegetables,  fish  and  game,  whole  kitchens  with 
polished  pewter  mortars  shining  and  yellow  copper 
dishes,  with  plates  and  beer  glasses,  jugs  and  straw 
baskets.    In  this  scenery  he  places  the  proper  figures. 


496 


•fftaltan  painttna 


market-women,  cooks,  and  kitchen  boys.  No  episode 
is  related;  his  pictures  are  large  still-life  with  human 
figures,  rendered  without  witticisms  or  humour,  but, 
with  simple  objectivity  and  powerful  colour.  In  this 
sense — because  he  placed  emphasis  not  upon  anecdotes 
but  upon  the  pictorial — he  signifies  an  important  step 
in  the  history  of  genre  painting,  and  bears  the  same 
relation  to  his  predecessors  as  in  our  own  day  Ribot 
or  Leibel  to  painter-novelists  like  Knaus  and  Vautier. 

Similar  kitchen  and  market  subjects  were  painted 
by  his  pupil  Joachim  Beuckelaer,  who  took  especial 
delight  in  the  jolly  life  of  the  Amsterdam  fish  market. 
He  conceived  even  the  Exposure  of  Christ  as  a  market 
subject  with  hucksters,  vegetables,  and  cakes,  with 
maids  and  peasants  who  are  much  more  interested  in 
apples  and  cabbage  heads  than  in  the  Martyred  One. 

On  the  basis  of  these  varied  achievements  Pieter 
Brueghel  wrote  the  chronicle  of  his  day.  Like  all  the 
Netherlanders  of  the  later  sixteenth  century  he  made 
the  journey  to  Italy.  He  did  not  Hnger  before  the 
pictures  of  the  great  masters  but  he  wandered  about  in 
nature  and  among  the  people.  Like  Durer  in  his  wan- 
derings, he  made  a  halt  everywhere  that  a  pretty  land- 
scape motive  charmed  him ;  made  drawings  of  the  cliffs 
of  the  Alps  with  the  same  simplicity  as  he  studied 
the  harbour  of  Messina;  and  rejoiced  in  the  gay  life  of  the 
Italian  people.  Upon  his  return  home  he  found  in  the 
daily  life  of  the  north  as  much  that  was  pictorial  as  in 
that  of  the  south.    His  drawings  especially  make  a  curi- 


Ube  Genre  picture  497 


ously  modern  impression.  They  represent  the  simplest 
things :  a  peasant  resting  on  a  tree-stump  on  the  way  to 
market,  horses  dragging  a  heavy  cart  over  a  dusty 
road,  or  a  tired  woodcutter  carrying  an  axe  under  his 
arm  on  the  road  home.  There  are  also  studies  of  heads 
which  in  their  simple  and  powerful  realism  might  have 
been  painted  to-day  instead  of  three  hundred  years 
ago. 

In  his  pictures  such  simpHcity  was  not  possible, 
because  in  them,  according  to  the  conception  of  the 
day,  extensive  apparatus  and  humorous  episodes  were 
necessary.  Brueghel  only  used  his  delightful  studies 
as  material  for  more  extensive  subjects. 

At  first  the  Bible  had  to  yield  the  subjects.  He 
paints  for  example  a  Flemish  village  in  winter  time. 
A  division  of  cavalry,  formed  in  strict  conformance  with 
military  tactics  into  a  main  body  and  rear-guard, 
approaches  from  the  road;  the  foremost  have  already 
dismounted  and  proceed  to  look  for  quarters.  Men 
and  women  plunge  into  the  street  calling  their  children; 
others  bolt  the  house  doors:  for  these  troops  have 
received  command  to  execute  the  massacre  of  the 
innocents  at  Bethlehem.  Or  a  gay  crowd,  on  foot,  in 
waggons,  and  on  horseback,  surges  along  a  road  towards 
a  hill — artisans  and  shopkeepers,  clergymen  and  sol- 
diers, women  and  children;  the  whole  city  is  on  its 
feet,  for  an  execution  cannot  be  seen  every  day.  And 
this  picture  represents  the  Crucifixion!  Another,  a 
tax-collector's  office  with  Flemish  burghers  paying 

3« 


498 


IFtaUan  paintina 


their  taxes,  is  supposed  to  represent  the  scene  of  Joseph 
and  Mary  coming  to  pay  their  taxes  at  Nazareth. 

To  other  paintings  he  gives  an  allegorical  mask;  a 
religious  morning  service  he  calls  Faith,  a  group  of  poor 
people  chewing  with  their  mouths  full,  Charity,  or  a 
regular  court  session  with  advocate,  judges,  and  public, 
Justice.  Sometimes  he  develops  pictures,  as  did 
Hogarth  later,  into  moral  sermons  and  introduces  entire 
life  scenes  of  a  warning  kind.  The  alchemist  who  has 
staked  everything  upon  his  invention  ends  with  his 
wife  and  children  in  the  poor-house,  the  quack  who 
deceives  people  is  thrown  into  prison;  and  the  Naples 
picture  of  the  blind  men  groping  through  the  landscape 
is  labelled  with  the  biblical  quotation:  *'If  the  blind 
lead  the  blind,  shall  they  not  both  fall  into  the  ditch?" 

When,  as  an  exception,  he  dispenses  with  biblical 
and  allegorical  titles,  the  multitudinous  accumulation 
of  comic  traits  must  atone  for  the  lacking  moral. 
Kirmesses  with  numberless  figures,  skating  scenes,  and 
similar  subjects,  which  can  be  related  in  a  broad  and 
detailed  manner — such  is  the  content  of  these  works. 
His  Vienna  picture,  the  Struggle  of  Carnival  and  Lent, 
is  a  treatise  upon  all  nonsense  that  can  be  conceived 
in  the  carnival;  his  Peasant's  Wedding  a  treatise  on 
intemperance.  In  his  ice  scenes  all  ludicrous  episodes 
are  narrated  which  could  possibly  occur  in  skating;  or 
he  heightens  the  comic  effect  by  making  the  peasants 
bestial  in  their  hideousness. 

In  this  regard  Brueghel  is  a  true  son  of  the  sixteenth 


Ube  Genre  picture  499 


century:  an  age  which  was  accustomed  to  see  nothing 
but  gods  and  heroes  could  not  conceive  of  the  poetry 
of  actuahty.  Daily  life  must  be  brought  into  humorous 
contrast  with  the  ideal;  for  the  opinion  was  that  nature 
could  not  be  represented  because  she  was  too  ugly. 
For  this  doctrine  Brueghel  furnished  the  proofs  by 
contrasting  with  the  gallery  of  beauty  presented  by  the 
idealists  his  gallery  of  ugliness. 

It  was  impossible  for  genre  painting  to  enter  other 
paths  until  the  art  of  the  seventeenth  century  had 
broken  with  the  doctrine  of  the  ugUness  of  nature  and 
had  substituted  for  idealised  saints  men  of  flesh  and 
blood.  Human  beings  good  enough  to  don  the  gar- 
ments of  saints  were  also  beautiful  enough  to  be  painted 
in  their  own  clothes:  no  longer  as  caricatured  louts 
and  heroes  of  ludicrous  anecdotes,  but  with  seriousness 
and  objectivity.  So  Caravaggio,  the  first  great  natur- 
alist, became  also  the  first  great  painter  of  the  people. 
By  selecting,  as  didCourbet  in  our  own  day,  the  life-size 
scale  for  presentation,  he  removed  the  last  hindrance 
to  the  treatment  of  such  subjects.  Genre  painting 
thus  took  its  place  as  an  equally  justified  branch  beside 
religious  painting. 

To  Caravaggio' s  early  period  belongs  the  lovely  blond 
maiden  of  the  Liechtenstein  Gallery  listening  so 
dreamily  to  the  tones  of  her  lute.  Later  the  golden 
gleaming  colour  was  replaced  in  such  pictures  also  by 
the  gloomy  light  of  a  cellar,  and  the  figures  became  more 
primeval  and  wilder.    He  passed  his  time  in  obscure 


500  Utaltan  painting 


taverns  with  lansquenets,  gypsies,  and  women;  and 
these  people,  whose  society  he  preferred,  are  also  the 
heroes  of  his  paintings.  For  Cardinal  del  Monte  he 
painted  the  gypsy  Fortune  Teller  (now  in  the  Gallery 
of  the  Capitol)  and  the  False  Players  of  the  Sciarra 
Gallery,  another  version  of  which  is  at  Dresden.  In 
still  another  picture  he  represented  a  company 
of  people  making  music.  With  such  scenes  a  great 
new  domain  was  opened  to  the  following  painters. 

Among  Frenchmen  he  was  followed  by  Jean  de 
Boulogne,  called  le  Valentin,  who  came  when  quite 
young  to  Rome.  His  subjects  are  lansquenets  quarrel- 
ing over  dice  or  making  music  with  the  women  in 
taverns.  Even  when  he  now  and  then  painted  biblical 
themes  like  the  Innocence  of  Susanna  or  the  Judgment 
of  Solomon,  he  treated  them  in  the  crude  naturalistic 
style  of  genre  painting.  Among  the  Flemings  belong- 
ing to  this  group  are  Theodor  Rombouts,  who  painted 
companies  of  singers  and  card-players  in  life-size 
figures,  and  among  the  Dutch  Gerhard  Honthorst,  who 
varied  the  "cellar-window"  style  of  Caravaggio  by 
the  addition  of  candle-light.  Michelangeh  Cerquozzi 
and  Antonio  Tempesta  progressed  from  genre  to  hunt- 
ing pieces,  which  in  a  century  of  great  wars  found  a 
thankful  public.  Benedetto  Castiglione  added  shep- 
herd scenes  with  goats,  sheep,  horses,  and  dogs.  Unlike 
the  majestic  sixteenth  century  which  had  only  recog- 
nised one  variety  of  historical  painting,  the  seventeenth 
witnessed  the  development  of  all  other  branches. 


Ube  Xanbscape 


The  cinquecento  held  the  same  opinion  of  landscape 
painting  as  Winckelmann.  An  age  which  con- 
sidered only  the  mighty  forms  of  the  nude 
human  body  beautiful  had  no  sense  for  life  in  nature. 
Even  among  the  Venetians  no  one  followed  the  path 
indicated  by  Titian;  not  until  the  seventeenth  century, 
when  the  bond  of  the  antique  had  been  broken,  did 
landscape  painting  awaken  to  new  life. 

Like  Caravaggio,  Salvator  Rosa,  the  Neapolitan,  was 
a  wild  and  restless  spirit.  A  fugitive  from  a  seminary 
of  priests,  he  wandered  as  a  lute-player  and  a  serenader 
through  the  taverns  of  Naples.  Then  he  began  to 
paint;  and,  without  having  even  seen  an  academy,  he 
wandered  with  portfolio  and  colour-box  about  the 
neighbourhood  of  the  city;  roamed  through  the  wilder- 
ness of  the  Abruzzi,  the  Capitanata,  Apulia,  the  Basili- 
cata,  and  Calabria,  making  drawings  of  all  points  con- 
nected with  historical  events :  the  wild  cliffs  of  the  Cau- 
dine  Forks  where  the  Roman  army  surrendered  to  the 
mercy  of  the  victor;  the  marshy  plains  of  the  Volturno 
where  Hannibal's  soldiers  wasted  away  stricken  with 
fever;  the  jagged  summits  of  Monte  Cavo  with  the  fallen 
cliff  of  Otranto  which  the  Turks  destroyed  in  1480. 
Falling  into  the  hands  of  robbers,  he  continued  his 
roamings  partly  as  a  prisoner,  partly  for  the  pleasure  he 
took  in  the  bandit's  life. 

As  an  old  man  he  looked  back  upon  the  adventures 
of  his  youth  as  upon  a  wild  romance.     The  brigand 


502 


•fftaUan  paintina 


became  a  grand  seigneur,  the  landscape  painter  a 
historical  painter.  He  painted  battles  and  combats  of 
cavalry,  historical  pictures  like  the  Conspiracy  of 
Catiline,  ghostly  and  fantastic  subjects,  like  the  Ghost 
of  Samuel  appearing  to  Saul;  in  clever  etchings  he 
seized  upon  scenes  from  popular  and  military  life, 
and  designed  those  weird  landscapes  peopled  by 
centaurs,  sea  nymphs,  and  sea  monsters,  which  are  so 
strongly  reminiscent  of  the  greatest  fantastic  painter 
of  our  own  day,  Bocklin.  The  greatest  number  of  his 
pictures  in  the  galleries  are  landscapes;  and,  as  in  the 
etchings,  here  also  he  has  points  of  contact  with  Bocklin 
and  reminds  us  of  the  youthful  works  of  Lessing  and 
Blechens.  His  favourite  subjects  are  not  the  serene 
majesty  of  the  South,  but  romantic  cliff  walls  and 
jagged  mountain  tops,  the  crumbling  world  of  ruins 
of  the  Abruzzi.  He  does  not  see  nature  in  the  joyful 
sunlight;  but  envelopes  the  heavens  with  mighty  clouds 
or  leads  us  into  the  silence  of  mountainous  deserts. 
Ruins  and  weather-beaten  trees  start  upwards ;  mighty 
oaks  are  swept  by  the  tempest,  and  threatening  storms 
gather  over  gloomy  chasms.  The  leaden  miasma  of 
malaria  hovers  over  the  withered  earth,  or  lightning 
strikes  down  from  black  clouds;  a  gloomy  poetry  of 
solitude,  something  passionate  and  impetuous,  pervades 
all  his  works.  In  this  respect  also  he  resembles  the 
German  romanticists  of  1830:  by  making  the  figures 
a  commentary  of  the  sentiment.  As  in  the  pictures  of 
Lessing,  monks  and  nuns,  knights  and  ladies  re-echo 


Zbc  Xant)scapc 


503 


the  elegiac  sentiment  of  the  landscape,  so  adventurers, 
bandits,  and  mercenaries  are  the  only  objects  which 
people  Salvator's  gloomy  world. 

Salvator  Rosa  is  an  isolated  instance  of  roman- 
ticism in  the  seventeenth  century.  With  him  alone, 
the  Neapolitan,  a  wild,  passionate  fire  reigns,  with  all 
others  classic  repose.  He  alone  chooses  South  Italian 
motives;  all  the  others  depict  Rome.  The  reason  for 
this  was  not  only  the  fact  that  Rome  was  the  centre  of 
artistic  activity,  but  also  because  the  plastic  appear- 
ance of  the  Roman  landscape  was  in  harmony  with 
contemporary  taste.  An  epoch  in  which  the  great 
historical  painters  stood  in  the  foreground,  could  fmd 
no  sense  in  the  true  charms  of  a  landscape.  The  noble 
Hnes  and  plastic  forms  which  painters  sought  could 
best  be  found  in  Rome.  The  Alban  mountains  with 
their  lonely  seas  and  distant  perspectives,  the  Cam- 
pagna  with  its  mighty  ruins  and  solemn,  monotonous 
mountain  ranges — such  is  the  content  of  the  heroic 
landscape  painted  at  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth 
century. 

Even  the  Carracci,  in  some  of  their  works,  made 
concessions  to  the  landscape  tendencies  of  the  century. 
Learned  scholars  in  their  historical  paintings,  they 
here  feel  themselves  creators.  In  their  landscapes  an 
intangible  and  solemn  repose  seems  to  rest  over  nature. 
Albano's  works  have  an  idyllic  and  arcadian  effect: 
green  mountains  with  majestic  trees  and  shady  arbours, 
peopled  by  dainty  cupids.    A  distinguished  gentleman 


504  Iftallan  painting 

living  with  his  mistress  in  the  country,  he  makes  the 
impression  of  the  Rococo  master  gone  astray  into  the 
Baroque  period. 

The  Carracci,  as  well  as  Albano,  would  hardly  have 
painted  these  things  if  foreign  artists  had  not  opened 
their  eyes.  These  strangers,  who  had  often  starved  for 
years  before  they  entered  upon  their  pilgrimage  to  the 
South,  were,  when  they  had  reached  the  land  of  their 
longing,  far  more  receptive  for  the  beauty  of  the  Eter- 
nal City  than  the  natives.  The  dawn  of  modern  land- 
scape painting  approaches. 

Apart  from  others,  a  genius  by  himself,  stands 
Velasquez.  For  him  there  exists  neither  romanticism 
nor  idealism,  neither  the  elegy  of  ruins  nor  majestic  line. 
In  Rome  as  in  Spain,  he  sought  only  the  cool  green, 
white,  and  grey  harmony  of  colours  to  which  his  eye  was 
accustomed.  A  half-wild  garden,  a  white  shimmering 
piece  of  architecture,  a  couple  of  people,  and  some 
marble  figures  are  the  elements  of  his  Roman  land- 
scapes. As  he  was  too  distant  from  the  sentiment  of 
the  epoch,  Velasquez's  Italian  stay  passed  away  without 
an  echo.  Far  more  important  were  the  impulses  which 
owed  their  origin  to  a  Netherlander  and  a  Frenchman: 
Paul  Bril  and  Nicolas  Poussin. 

Bril,  whose  gay  and  kaleidoscopic  pictures  often 
appear  in  the  galleries,  was  at  the  same  time  a  fresco 
painter  in  the  grand  style.  That  he  found  opportunity 
to  paint  such  frescoes  in  adornment  of  the  walls  of  a 
church  is  characteristic  of  the  trend  towards  landscape 


XLbc  XanDscape 


505 


during  this  period.  Through  painted  halls  of  columns 
one  looks  upon  impressive  hills,  by  which  distant 
perspectives  the  narrow  chapels  are  changed  into  a 
laughing  world.  Thus  in  church  frescoes  modern 
landscape  painting  created  its  first  monumental 
achievements. 

Poussin  is  called  a  "primitive"  by  his  countrymen, 
the  French;  and  although  the  figures  of  his  paintings 
reveal  him  as  a  cool  composer,  he  looked  upon  nature 
with  the  eye  of  a  primitive — a  kind  of  Mantegna  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  at  the  same  time  a  scholar  and 
realist.  In  the  midst  of  the  Baroque  period,  from  the 
ruins  of  the  antique  world  he  created  painting  anew 
from  the  very  foundations.  In  a  convulsed  epoch  he 
alone  maintained  classic  repose;  in  an  age  in  which 
painting  was  pictorial  he  was  "le  peintre  le  plus  sculp- 
teur  qui  fut  jamais."  His  youth  was  passed  in  bitter 
poverty,  and  when  he  at  last  trod  the  land  of  his 
dreams  he  could  never  again  part  from  the  solemn 
Roman  landscape.  His  life  passed  as  simply  as  that 
of  an  Arcadian  shepherd.  In  the  day  he  laboured  in  his 
workshop  upon  the  hill  of  Santa  Trinita  de'  Monti^ 
whence  he  could  enjoy  a  wide  view  over  the  Campagna. 
At  eventide  he  roamed  with  scholars  and  poets  in  the 
environs  of  the  Eternal  City;  filled  his  mind  with  her 
landscape ;  brooded  in  the  garden  of  the  Villa  Borghese 
over  the  primeval  past;  and  made  sketches  of  those 
gigantic  trees  which  in  his  pictures  rear  their  heads 
so  majestically  towards  heaven.    In  his  work  there  is 


irtaltan  painting 


nothing  intimate,  nothing  homehke.  Nature,  as 
he  depicts  her,  is  a  purely  plastic,  apparently  soulless 
world.  He  sees  only  forms  and  lines;  gazes  upon  the 
outlines  of  a  tree  with  the  same  eyes  as  does  a  sculptor 
upon  the  silhouette  of  a  statue.  But  the  grandeur  of 
his  line  is  such  that  it  alone  inspires  his  landscapes  with 
a  solemn  sentiment.  He  created  a  world  free  from 
everything  trivial  and  insignificant.  These  great,  noble 
mountain  ranges,  these  mighty  trees  and  crystal  seas 
are  combined  with  simple  antique  buildings  in  com- 
positions of  classic  rhythm.  The  figures  also  are  attuned 
with  the  elements  of  nature  to  one  great  accord.  Many 
of  his  works,  like  the  Prometheus  of  the  Louvre,  were 
probably  inspirations  for  young  Bocklin. 

His  pupil  and  brother-in-law,  Gaspard  Dughet,  added 
nothing  new.  Although  his  landscapes  with  scenes 
from  the  lives  of  Elijah  and  Elisha  in  the  church  of 
San  Martino  ai  Monti  rank  with  those  of  Bril  as  the 
most  important  religious  frescoes  of  the  century,  they 
reveal  only  the  form  of  Poussin  without  his  spirit. 
Even  when  he  paints  those  storms  to  which  his  chief 
celebrity  is  due,  he  lacks  the  great  and  sustained  har- 
mony of  his  master. 

The  painter  who  followed  him,  on  the  other  hand,  has 
something  new  to  offer.  After  artists  had  painted  the 
permanent  character,  the  firm  lines,  and  the  eternal 
repose  of  nature,  they  had  yet  to  learn  to  express  the 
changeable,  the  transient,  and  the  evanescent  effects 
of  light.    The  rhythm  of  form  and  poetry  of  line  had 


XTbe  XanDscape 


5°7 


also  to  be  combined  with  the  sentiment  of  Hght.  The 
decisive  steps  in  just  this  path  had  to  be  taken  at  the 
beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century  by  artists  Hke 
Grunewald  and  Altdorfer.  Gerard  David's  picture  of 
Christ's  Prayer  upon  the  Mount  of  Olives  is  pervaded 
by  a  subdued  bluish-white  moonlight,  and  in  another 
picture,  Christ  taken  Prisoner,  he  painted  the  effects 
of  torchlight.  Among  the  Italians  Giorgione  had 
already  interpreted  lamplight,  painted  the  lightning 
flashing  in  the  night,  and  the  fiery  glow  of  the  sun  pour- 
ing his  light  over  the  earth.  Many  of  Titian's,  Sal- 
vator's,  and  Tintoretto's  pictures  are  lighted  by  the 
beams  of  evening  red  and  moonlight.  But  classicism 
had  interrupted  this  development,  and  it  was  reserved 
for  the  seventeenth  century  to  enter  upon  the  heritage 
of  the  earlier  masters.  As  Poussin,  the  master  of  Une, 
can  only  be  conceived  as  a  Frenchman,  so  Elsheimer 
in  his  entire  being  appears  a  German.  A  pupil  of 
Grunewald's  in  the  third  generation,  he  was  called  to 
become  the  first  great  Stimmungsmaler^  of  the  seven- 
teenth century,  who  opposed  the  power  of  colour  tone 
to  the  clear  elasticity  of  form.  In  his  pictures  the 
robust  and  powerful  light  and  shade  effects  of  Cara- 
vaggio  are  clarified  into  a  poetic  tenderness. 

It  is  true  that  Elsheimer  did  not  paint  pure  land- 

1  The  nearest  approach  to  the  translation  of  this  significant  word  is 
a  "painter  of  moods."  It  is  applied  to  those  artists  who  use  the 
landscape  or  some  other  subject  as  a  means  of  expressing  their  own 
poetic  sentiment,  as  was  done  in  the  nineteenth  century  by  the  painters 
of  the  Barbizon  school. — Ed. 


5o8 


IFtaUan  painting 


scapes ;  for  he  peoples  them  with  biblical  figures.  But 
the  relation  of  the  figures  to  the  landscape  is  different 
than- with  earher  masters.  Their  art  was  a  species 
of  historical  painting.  They  found  in  the  Bible  scenes 
enacted  in  a  landscape,  and  sought  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Rome  the  natural  elements  needed  for  the 
completion  of  such  narratives.  Elsheimer's  works 
originated  through  a  different  psychological  process. 
What  he  first  sees  is  the  sentiment  of  nature,  and 
then  he  peoples  her  with  suitable  beings.  The  senti- 
ment of  landscape  produces  the  subject  of  the  picture. 

Whole  days  he  lay,  as  Sandrart  relates,  in  thoughtful 
contemplation  under  beautiful  trees,  and  he  became  so 
thoroughly  imbued  with  the  sense  of  their  forms  that 
he  could  see  them  as  clearly  with  closed  as  with  open 
eyes.  This  serene  and  dreamy  observation  of  nature 
pervades  all  his  pictures.  He  paints  the  vicinity  of 
Rome  with  its  silent  mountain  ranges,  its  noble  groups 
of  trees,  and  idylHc  valleys.  But  his  observation  is 
not  confined  to  the  solemn  grandeur  of  its  lines.  At 
one  time  the  light  of  noon,  at  another  soft  dawn,  the 
weary  evening  red  or  pale  moonlight  spreads  over  the 
earth.  Indeed,  he  often  approaches  the  problem  of 
the  "double  light."  Silver  stars  twinkle,  houses  burn, 
and  pine  torches  smoke;  or  the  light  of  the  camp-fire 
quivers  in  flaming  red  through  the  night.  The  Flight 
into  Egypt  especially  gave  occasion  for  variations  like 
those  given  at  a  later  period  by  Domenico  Tiepolo. 
He  painted  it  innumerable  times  under  all  illuminations. 


XTbe  XanDscape 


In  a  picture  of  the  Dresden  Gallery,  the  full  noonday 
sunhght  spreads  over  the  scene;  in  that  of  the  Munich 
Pinakothek  it  is  night:  in  the  foreground  Joseph  with 
a  gleaming  torch  walks  near  Mary,  while  in  the  back- 
ground shepherds  sit  under  mighty  trees  around  the 
fire.  From  the  sky  the  moon  in  serene  splendour 
pours  down  her  mild,  silver  light  upon  the  earth. 

Between  Poussin  the  Frenchman  and  Elsheimer 
the  German  stands  one  who  is  at  the  same  time  a  mas- 
ter of  line  and  a  painter  of  light, — a  Lorrainer,  Claude 
Gelee.  With  Poussin  he  shares  the  feeling  for  the 
majestic  and  the  opinion  that  the  landscape  should  be 
the  scene  of  an  historical  event  or  the  dwelling-place 
of  gods  and  heroes.  From  the  standpoint  of  Hne 
alone,  all  his  works  are  variations  of  a  single  theme. 
In  the  foreground  a  mighty  group  of  trees  or  a  temple 
is  pushed  forward  in  order  to  carry  the  eye  into  the 
distance,  and  in  the  background  a  classic  row  of  hills 
bounds  the  scene.  These  elements  which  he  always 
repeats  hardly  change  their  position.  But  the  light 
which  vibrates  among  them  is  different  at  every  hour 
of  the  day.  And  as  Elsheimer  always  repeated  the 
Flight  into  Egypt,  Hokusai  painted  a  hundred  views  of 
the  mountain  Fuji,  and  Claude  Monet  twelve  times 
the  same  haystack,  so  also  Claude  Lorrain  could  all  his 
life  long  depict  the  same  temples  and  groups  of  trees, 
but  it  was  each  time  a  different  picture.  After  Sal- 
vator  had  painted  the  struggle  and  the  devastating 
effects  of  the  elements,  Poussin  the  rigid,  linear  beauty 


litaUan  paintino 


of  nature,  and  Elsheimer  the  magic  of  the  moonhght, 
Claude  sang  the  wonders  of  the  sunHght  and  the  mighty 
dome  of  heaven,  which  gleams  in  the  morning  in  a  cool, 
silver  splendour,  at  noon  like  liquid  gold,  and  at  even 
like  crimson.  One  loves  to  think  of  him  as  a  poor  lad, 
aimlessly  leaving  the  parental  roof  and  on  his  distant 
wanderings  gazing  up  into  the  mighty  sky;  as  a  wander- 
ing journeyman  sitting  by  the  lagoons  of  Venice  and 
following  with  his  eye  the  rippling  sunlight,  as  it  played 
upon  the  waves  and  danced  over  the  colonnades  of 
marble  palaces.  For  it  was  in  Venice  that  he  discov- 
ered himself :  and  however  often  he  afterwards  painted 
Roman  monuments  or  the  harbours  of  Messina,  Naples, 
and  Tarentum,  the  recollection  of  Venice  seems  to 
hover  over  his  paintings;  the  memory  of  the  city  of 
light  where  he  lingered  to  dream  upon  his  journey. 
Not  until  the  nineteenth  century  did  another  painter, 
the  Englishman  Turner,  sing  such  jubilant  hymns  to 
light. 


Cbapter  IH 


XTbe  1ReUoiou0  auD  IRealistic  Hrt  ot  Spain 
IT.  IRlbera  auD  ^^urbaran 

IKE  the  painters  just  mentioned,  Ribera,  who 


opens  the  history  of  Spanish  art  of  the  seven- 


teenth century,  also  resided  in  Italy.  At  the 
beginning  of  his  activity  he  had  been  directed  by  his 
master  Ribalta  to  study  the  Lombard  school,  had  gone 
to  Parma  and  become  so  absorbed  in  Correggio  that 
his  decorations  in  a  chapel  of  that  city  were  for 
a  long  time  considered  works  of  Correggio.  But  much 
as  he  loved  light  and  colour  at  the  beginning,  his 
pictures  became  at  a  later  period  equally  dark  and 
gloomy.  Although  it  does  not  appear  that  he  made 
the  personal  acquaintance  of  Caravaggio,  he  certainly 
honoured  him  as  his  master;  and  when  he  was  called 
to  continue  this  master's  activity  in  the  Spanish  vice- 
royalty  of  Naples,  he  found  himself  in  his  true  element. 

Ribera  was  a  bold  and  energetic  spirit.  He  had  in  his 
youth  defied  all  misery,  hunger,  and  dangers;  had 
without  blushing  worn  the  livery  of  a  servant  in  order 
to  avoid  begging  in  the  streets.  This  will-power,  this 
unbending  energy  is  also  apparent  in  his  works.  Of 


Zbc  Hrt  of  Spain 


all  artists  of  the  seventeenth  century  he  is  the  most 
powerful  naturalist,  and  such  was  the  power  and  force 
of  his  works  that  they  exercised  a  deep  influence  upon 
many  artists  of  the  nineteenth  century,  especially  upon 
Bonnat  and  Ribot.  In  contrast  to  the  ctnquecento, 
which  had  avoided  the  representation  of  old  age, 
Ribera  felt  himself  most  at  home  when  he  could  paint 
aged  faces  furrowed  by  the  hardships  of  life — grey 
hair,  swollen  veins  and  sinews.  A  black  background 
into  which  the  dark  garments  of  his  figures  imper- 
ceptibly pass,  a  mass  of  furrowed  skin  and  wrinkled 
hands  which  he  has  seen  somewhere — such  is  usually 
the  content  of  his  paintings.  But  he  loved  not  only  the 
harsh  and  overworked  forms  of  old  age,  but  also  the 
deformed,  which  the  art  of  the  sixteenth  century  had 
never  represented ;  and  in  his  club-footed  beggars  of  the 
Louvre  he  created  a  wonderful  piece  of  defiant  realism. 

Such  figures  peopled  also  his  larger  works.  As 
Caravaggio  had  represented  fat  women  of  the  Trastevere 
and  rugged  porters  as  Madonnas  and  apostles,  so  Ribera 
depicted  them  as  market-women  and  aged  peasants 
with  brazen  bones  and  weather-beaten  faces.  His  Adora- 
tion of  the  Shepherds  takes  place  among  a  rude  shep- 
herd tribe  of  the  Abruzzi.  Brown,  raw-boned  fellows 
in  coats  of  sheep-fell  press  about  Mary.  The  still-life — 
the  bread  basket,  the  bundle  of  straw,  the  chickens, 
and  the  lamb — is  arranged  to  form  a  complete  kitchen 
subject.  In  his  Entombment  the  body  of  Christ  is  that 
of  a  raw-boned  Neapolitan  peasant. 


IRibera  ant)  ^urbaran  513 


The  gloomy  inquisitorial  spirit  of  the  Spanish  hier- 
archy is  expressed  in  his  pictures  of  martyrdoms. 
Here  Bartholomew  is  flayed,  there  Lawrence  is  roasted 
on  the  grill,  or  Andrew  hangs  upon  the  cross,  while  a 
soldier  tries  to  drag  away  the  corpse  before  the  fetter 
about  his  wrist  has  been  loosed.  Even  when  for  a 
change  he  treads  the  domain  of  the  antique,  he  selects 
martyrdoms,  and  places  beside  the.  Christian  such 
heathen  victims  as  Marsyas,  Ixion,  and  Prometheus. 

But  the  same  man  who  here  appears  as  such  a  one- 
sided painter  of  tortures  and  wrinkled  beggar  phi- 
losophers, has  in  other  cases  succeeded  wonderfully  in 
presenting  soulful  ecstacy,  and  occasionally  surprises 
one  with  a  melancholy  type  of  maiden  with  great 
dark  and  dreamy  eyes.  Take  for  example  his  St 
Agnes  at  Dresden  and  his  Immaculate  Conception  in 
Salamanca,  which  reveal  a  psychic  delicacy  and  radi- 
ant rendition  of  light  attained  by  no  Italian  painter. 

The  path  indicated  by  Ribera  was  followed  by  other 
artists  whose  activity  falls  not  now  in  Italy  but  in 
Spain.  The  way  was  prepared,  and  a  series  of  mighty 
spirits  proclaimed  with  powerful  naturalism  what 
Ribalta  and  Roelas  had  expressed  in  the  forms  of  the 
Renaissance.  The  seventeenth  century  was  the  age 
of  the  greatest  development  of  culture  in  Spain:  when 
Calderon  wrote  his  sensual  but  mystic  and  romantic 
poems,  and  sculptors  carved  those  master- works  of 
glowing  polychromy  before  which  one  to-day  stands 
amazed  in  Spanish  churches.  To  painters  also  the 
33 


5U 


Ube  Hrt  of  Spain 


foundation  of  monasteries  by  Philip  III.  and  Lermo 
gave  work  in  abundance:  and  in  full  possession  of  a 
most  powerful  technique  they  now  became  in  every 
drop  of  their  blood  true  Spaniards. 

In  Spanish  art  Spanish  religion  lives.  Passion  and 
fanatical  asceticism,  gloomy,  ecstatic  sensuality,  and 
hysteric  fervour  are  reproduced  in  their  religious 
pictures  with  an  unequalled  naturalistic  power.  In  a 
feudal  state  like  the  Spanish,  with  its  grandees  and 
princes  of  the  church,  portraiture  also  found  such  a  soil 
as  it  had  nowhere  else.  This  is  the  age  of  those  por- 
traits in  which  solemn  grandena  and  faded  weariness, 
majesty  and  insanity  are  united  into  such  an  in- 
describable whole. 

Francisco  Zurbaran  is  the  painter  of  the  clergy  and 
monasticism.  Before  his  paintings  one  has  the  feel- 
ing of  standing  in  a  gloomy  cloister  cell.  A  wooden 
crucifix  hangs  upon  the  whitewashed  wall;  upon  a 
straw  seat  lies  the  Bible,  printed  in  great  black  and 
red  letters;  here  stands  the  prayer-bench  and  upon  it 
a  skull,  warning  of  the  changefulness  of  this  world ;  there 
the  row  of  books,  all  great  pigskin  folios.  In  the  midst 
of  this  solemn  space,  solemn  figures  move  about  in 
ample  white  woollen  cowls,  the  cross  of  the  order  upon 
their  breasts;  men  who  in  solitude  have  forgotten  speech 
and  associate  only  with  the  saints  of  heaven.  Some- 
times they  are  ecstatic  and  wild,  convulsed  by  the  ful- 
ness of  spiritual  feeling,  radiating  like  glowing  stoves 
a  light  from  within.    But  he  often  paints  them  also  in 


IDelasquea 


515 


everyday  monastic  life  as  they  read,  write,  and  meditate. 
Instead  of  the  wildness  of  Ribera  there  reigns  with 
him  an  unspeakable  simplicity,  a  quiet  almost  sober 
unpretentiousness.    The  objects  about  them— the  cups, 
fruits,  bread,  the  coarse  stuff  of  the  cowls,  the  folios 
and  straw  chairs  are  rendered  with  the  objectivity  of  a 
still-life  painter.     If  notwithstanding  this  his  works 
create  the  impression  of  all  that  terrihile  which  frightens 
us  in  Castagno's  and  Michelangelo's  works,  this  elTect 
is  the  result  of  the  grandeur  of  his  line.    The  folds  of 
the  great  white  cowls  are  statuesque  in  effect,  and  the 
silhouettes  are  powerful  and  grand.    Like  a  mystic 
bandit,  a  giant  of  primeval  times,  seems  the  Praying 
Monk  of  the  London  Gallery;  and  the  portrait  of  Peter 
of  Alcantara  with  the  sparkling  eye  and  solemn 
threatening  gesture  is  truly  grandiose.    Of  the  larger 
paintings  in  which  he,  the  epic  poet  of  monasticism, 
relates  the  legends  of  the  orders,  four  scenes  from  the 
Life  of  St  Bonaventura,  painted  in  1629  for  a  church  of 
this  saint  in  Seville,  have  found  their  way  to  Paris, 
BerUn,  and  Dresden.    But  even  these  works  are  but 
poor  examples  of  his  art.    Not  until  more  has  become 
known  which  is  concealed  in  the  churches  of  Seville 
and  the  mountain  villages  of   Estremadura,  will 
Zurbaran  be  discovered  for  the  history  of  art. 

A  year  after  Zurbaran,  Velasquez  was  bom,  and 
these  two  artists   are  united  by  the  closest  of 


5i6 


XTbe  Hrt  of  Spain 


bonds.  Although  most  other  Spaniards  delighted 
in  tragic  pain  and  wild  ecstacy,  there  is  nothing 
oppressive  in  the  works  of  Velasquez  or  Zurbaran. 
Their  chief  characteristic  is  royal  repose  and  their  only 
difference  this,  that  of  the  two  pillars  of  the  Spanish 
state,  the  church  and  the  nobility,  the  works  of  Zur- 
baran reflect  rather  the  ecclesiastical,  those  of  Velasquez 
the  knightly  spirit. 

Velasquez  also  painted  religious  pictures  like  his 
Adoration  of  the  Shepherds  and  an  Adoration  of  the 
Kings,  a  Christ  Crucified  and  a  Coronation  of  the  Virgin. 
He  painted  landscapes,  historical  pictures,  hke  the 
Surrender  of  'Breda,  and  antique  subjects  like  Los 
Borrachos  and  the  Smithy  of  Vulcan,  Mars  and  Venus. 
Yet  one  thinks  little  of  these  works  when  the  name  of 
Velasquez  is  mentioned,  but  rather  of  his  portraits.  He 
is  for  us  the  court  painter  par  excellence.  The  entire 
enervated  Spanish  court  of  the  seventeenth  century, 
degenerated  by  family  marriages,  stares  from  his  works 
as  from  a  witch's  mirror.  No  portrait  painter  of  the 
world  had,  it  would  seem,  more  interesting  problems. 
Whereas  in  the  works  of  Titian  and  Rubens  princes 
alternate  with  scholars,  and  artists,  beautiful  women 
with  generals  and  statesmen,  with  Velasquez  the  same 
figures  always  recur  with  tiresome  similarity.  Al- 
though his  activity  in  Madrid  lasted  thirty-six  years 
he  hardly  painted  a  picture  that  was  not  ordered  by  the 
king.  Two  journeys  to  Italy  in  1629  and  1648-51 
were  the  only  events  that  showed  him  that  a  world 


Delaeques 


517 


existed  outside  of  the  royal  palace  of  Madrid.  The 
same  walls  which  separated  the  Alcazar  from  the  com- 
mon herd  form  the  boundaries  of  his  art.    Within  these 
walls  as  Uttle  happened  as  in  the  mountain  palaces 
of  Louis  II.  of  Bavaria.     Foreign  royalties  were  in- 
frequent guests:  and  of  all  the  court  officials  almost  the 
only  one  of  whom  we  hear,  except  the  minister  Olivares, 
was  Cardinal  Caspar  Borgia,  who  returned  in  1 636  to  the 
Spanish  capital,  after  his  fanaticism  had  made  him 
impossible  even  in  Rome.    Philip  IV.  usually  preferred 
to  associate  with  subalterns,  to  whom  he  was  as  de- 
voted as  a  master  to  his  dog.    His  master  huntsman, 
sturdy  foresters,  and  their  assistants  were  dearer  to 
him  than  ministers;  he  preferred  dwarfs  and  fools  to 
sane  persons.     It  was  so  pleasant  to  address  these 
comical  old  fellows  as  uncle  and  cousin;  so  elevating  to 
feel,  in  the  presence  of  a  crazy  little  monster,  how 
like  divinity  royalty  was. 

These,  then,  are  the  personages  whom  Velasquez  had 
to  paint.  We  see  in  a  dozen  variations  the  pale, 
cold,  phlegmatic  countenance  of  the  king  and  his 
brothers  Carlos  and  Ferdinand:  men  with  pale,  lan- 
guishing faces,  long  Hapsburg  chins  and  protruding 
underlips,  and  tired,  expressionless  faces;  men  who  were 
old  when  they  were  born.  We  gaze  upon  Balthasar< 
the  heir  apparent,  at  whose  birth  his  majesty  was  "so 
pleased  and  contented  that  he  opened  all  the  doors  and 
admitted  every  one:  so  that  even  the  ordinary  chair- 
carriers  and  kitchen-boys  congratulated  his  majesty 


XTbe  Hrt  of  Spain 


in  his  innermost  chambers,  and  begged  leave  to  kiss 
his  hand,  which  was  most  graciously  granted  them.'' 
There  follow  the  portraits  of  the  minister  Olivares,  a 
few  master  huntsmen,  and  the  sinister  procession  of 
fools  One  is  dressed  as  a  Turkish  madman,  another 
has  been  dubbed  Don  Juan  of  Austria,  after  the  king's 
great  uncle;  a  third  stands  upon  the  stage  declaiming 
one  of  his  farces.  Of  the  dwarfs,  one  with  a  mighty 
dog  at  his  side  is  dressed  as  a  Flemish  nobleman; 
another  with  a  mighty  folio  is  occupied  with  gene- 
alogical studies;  a  third  has  an  expressionless  grin;  yet 
another  with  a  mighty  deformed  head  stares  with  empty 
eyes.  His  women  are  as  little  beautiful  as  the  men 
are  interesting.  Isabella  of  Bourbon  and  Mariana  of 
Austria,  as  well  as  the  princesses  Maria  Theresa  and 
Margarita  in  their  monstrous  costumes,  resemble 
Chinese  pagodas  rather  than  living  beings.  They 
possess  neither  coquetry  nor  charm,  neither  archness 
nor  a  friendly  smile.  Everything  is  sacrificed  to  icy 
pride  and  implacable  ceremony.  He  who  glances 
back  into  the  past  and  remembers  the  beautiful, 
heavenly  women  who  look  down  from  the  pictures  of 
the  Venetians,  feels  himself  transferred  in  the  presence 
of  the  works  of  Velasquez  into  a  world  of  uncanny 
phantoms. 

How  is  it,  then,  that  notwithstanding  this  one  turns 
the  leaves  of  the  book  of  Velasquez's  portraits  with 
awe,  that  in  comparison  with  him  Rubens  seems  a 
plebeian,  van  Dyck  a  parvenu  and  a  dandy  ? 


VELASQUEZ 


PRINCE  BALTHAZAR  CARLOS  IN  HUNTING  COSTUME 

Prado,  Madrid 


tPelasque3 


519 


Much  of  this  imposing  impression  is  due  to  the  fact 
that  Velasquez  presents  to  us  a  world  so  closely  cir- 
cumscribed. With  other  portrait  painters  the  im- 
pressions change.  Here  we  linger  in  a  scholar's  study, 
there  in  a  ballroom:  here  upon  the  battle-field,  there 
in  the  boudoir.  With  Velasquez  one  has  the  feeling 
of  standing  in  a  great,  lonely,  royal  palace,  whose 
panelled  floor  plebeians  may  only  tread  in  felt  shoes; 
a  royal  palace  where  old  servants  in  gold-embroidered 
liveries  pace  silently  over  soft  carpets. 

The  pathological  elements  of  his  subjects  also  give 
their  portraits  a  strange  charm.  The  Bourbons  and 
the  Stuarts  who  appear  in  the  portraits  of  Rigaud  and 
van  Dyck  are  still  full-blooded,  healthy,  and  powerful. 
Whenever  the  court  physician  discovered  that  the 
royal  blood  was  growing  thin,  he  prescribed  marriage 
with  a  healthy  daughter  of  a  foreign  royal  family,  who 
furnished  new  life-blood  to  the  race.  The  Spanish 
Hapsburgs,  who  had  become  exhausted  by  centuries  of 
endogamy,  are  refmed  and  nervous,  pale  and  thin: 
of  that  fragile  delicacy  which  occurs  in  the  last  scions  of 
ancient  families  with  whom  the  race  dies  out.  There 
is  something  fascinating  in  the  union  of  the  two  ele- 
ments of  which  these  characters  are  composed:  illness 
and  chivalry,  decline  and  enforced  will-power,  weary 
indifference  and  the  habit  of  tension.  They  are  all 
weary,  and  yet  have  no  time  to  be  weary.  All  would 
like  to  be  seated  but  the  kingly  profession  allows  of 
no  relaxation.    Velasquez  alone  had  the  opportunity 


Zbc  Hrt  of  Spain 


of  painting  children  with  such  silken  ash-grey  hair 
and  such  big  bluish  eyes,  who  while  they  gaze  at  us 
say  that  the  next  year  will  be  their  last.  Just  because 
his  heroes  are  such  pale,  enervated,  bloodless  people, 
his  portraits  had  such  an  over-refined,  aristocratic  effect 
in  an  age  that  was  still  powerful. 

Furthermore,  it  might  be  pointed  out  that  the  por- 
traits of  Velasquez  served  a  different  purpose  from  the 
representative  pictures  of  the  seventeenth  century. 
Even  Louis  XIV.  was  in  a  certain  sense  a  democratic 
king,  who  could  be  condescending — not  with  the  people 
indeed,  but  with  the  "noblest  of  the  nation."  He 
considered  it  necessary  to  impress  them  by  his  splen- 
dour, led  an  open  life,  and  showed  himself  affable;  for 
he  even  feared  for  his  kingdom  "held  by  the  grace  of 
God."  The  pillars  of  the  Spanish  monarchy  were  not 
yet  shaken  by  such  fears.  If  Philip  IV.  had  heard  of 
any  discontent  among  his  people,  he  would  have  been 
quite  as  astonished  as  the  good  Emperor  Francis ;  who, 
in  1848,  when  his  adjutant  announced  that  it  was  time 
to  flee  because  the  people  were  storming  the  royal 
palace,  gave  the  surprised  answer:  "Well,  are  they 
allowed  to  do  that  ?  "  For  the  Spanish  Hapsburgs 
there  existed  neither  people  nor  aristocracy.  They  are 
still  princes  to  whom  ministers  deliver  messages  on 
bended  knees;  princes  who  invisibly  hover  over  the 
people.  True,  the  Spanish  court  was  the  most  costly 
in  Europe;  the  liveries  of  the  servants  cost  130,000 
ducats  a  year.    But  these  expenses  were  not  made  for 


Delasques 


purposes  of  display;  they  were  things  which  'a  king 
might  allow  himself  as  a  matter  of  course.  The  long 
passages  of  the  Alcazar  in  which  he  lived,  enabled  him 
to  move  unseen  among  the  most  distant  parts  of  the 
palace.  When  at  rare  intervals  he  set  foot  upon  the 
plebeian  soil  of  the  outer  world,  he  avoided  the  shouting 
rabble  and  took  pains  that  no  one  should  see  him; 
sometimes,  perhaps,  leaving  behind  his  monogram 
painted  in  large  letters,  lo  el  rey,  in  order  that  the 
people  might  know  that  the  king,  like  God,  was  omni- 
present. "The  Spanish  court,"  says  a  contemporary 
author,  "is  no  court  hke  the  French  and  English,  but 
a  private  mansion  in  which  a  secluded  life  is  led." 

The  portraits  of  Velasquez,  therefore,  were  not 
intended  to  be  seen  by  profane  eyes  and  had  no  patriotic 
missions  to  fulfil,  nor  was  it  their  duty  to  remind  the 
nobility  that  kingly  power  hovered  over  them.  They 
were  family  portraits  which  hung  upon  the  walls  of 
the  Alcazar  and  ia  the  dining  halls  of  the  distant 
hunting-lodges  or  were  sent  as  presents  to  relatives  in 
Vienna.  Everything  which  in  other  lands  characterised 
the  courtly  style  of  portraiture  was  therefore  not  suit- 
able in  Spain.  While  elsewhere  the  crown  and  different 
accessories  had  to  be  displayed  upon  the  table  in  order 
to  show  that  the  subject  was  really  a  king,  with  the 
Hapsburgs  no  such  insignia  were  necessary.  Every  one 
who  saw  the  picture  knew:  this  is  my  brother  Philip, 
that  my  uncle  Ferdinand,  this  my  cousin  Mariana. 
In  other  countries  princes  show  themselves  affable  or 


522 


XTbe  Hrt  ot  Spain 


gracious,  or  they  sit  in  imposing  positions;  they  move 
their  arms  demonstratively,  and  if  they  are  on  horse- 
back assume  the  air  of  a  general  reviewing  his  army. 
The  Hapsburgs  need  no  such  display;  for  they  are  quite 
among  themselves.  They  do  not  need  to  indicate  by 
a  pillar  or  a  curtain  that  they  live  in  palaces,  nor  to 
display  their  white  hands  or  their  costly  toilettes. 
For  all  these  things  are  understood  among  them  as  a 
matter  of  course,  and  the  stage  effects  used  to  overawe 
the  people  serve  no  purpose  among  relatives.  They 
have  themselves  painted  in  the  situations  which  signify 
the  great  moments  of  their  existence:  when  they  grant 
an  audience  (God  knows  what  self-control  this  re- 
quires! ),  when  they  are  in  their  household  or  upon  the 
hunt.  A  portrait  by  Velasquez  was  for  them  what  a 
photograph  is  for  us. 

One  might  then  aver  that  the  distinction  of  Vel- 
asquez's portraits  is  not  a  merit  of  the  master,  but 
rather  due  to  the  surroundings.  But  how  little  this  is 
true  is  shown  by  a  comparison  with  the  portraits  which 
Rubens  painted  of  the  same  persons  during  his  stay 
at  Madrid:  Philip  IV.,  Isabella,  and  Ferdinand.  Before 
these  portraits  of  the  Munich  Finakbthek  one  seems 
in  the  presence  of  another  race.  Philip,  with  Velasquez 
pale  and  tired,  the  withered  branch  of  an  ancient  sapless 
tree,  is  with  Rubens  a  fresh  and  corpulent  gentleman. 
Isabella,  cold  and  solemn  in  the  portrait  of  the  Span- 
iard, appears  as  a  lovable,  happy  lady.  The  Cardinal- 
Infant  Ferdinand,  there  a  pale  reserved  young  man 


VELASQUEZ 


PORTRAIT  OF  INNOCENT  X. 

Doria  Gallery,  Rome 


I 


IDelasQues  523 

with  weary,  feverish  eyes,  has  become  a  robust  and 
joyous  prelate.  If  van  Dyck  had  painted  them  they 
would  not  have  been  so  distressingly  healthy,  but 
all  the  more  vain  and  dandified.  Philip  would  have 
coquetted  with  his  blue-veined  hand  and  assumed  the 
pose  of  an  Adonis;  Isabella  would  have  shown  that  her 
silken  robe  was  very  valuable,  and  that  her  handker- 
chief was  ge'nuine  Brussels  lace;  Don  Ferdinand,  the 
cardinal,  would  have  looked  from  the  picture  with  a 
warm  and  sentimental  glance,  as  if  to  charm  beautiful 
women.  Something  soft  and  dandified,  an  obtrusive 
distinction,  would  have  found  its  way  into  the  portraits. 

Both  Rubens  and  van  Dyck  would  have  brought  for- 
eign traits  into  this  highly  aristocratic  world;  Velasquez 
could  see  it  thus  distinguished  because  he  himself 
belonged  to  it.  Not  only  did  he  live  in  the  midst  of  the 
most  ancient  nobility  of  Europe,  in  the  royal  palace 
itself,  loaded  with  all  the  titles  of  a  courtier;  but  he 
was  himself  descended  from  an  ancient  and  noble 
family.  So  great  was  his  pride  in  an  ancient  family 
tree  that  he  laid  aside  his  father's  name  Silva, 
although  it  belonged  to  the  most  distinguished  of  the 
realm,  and  assumed  his  mother's  because  this  was  the 
name  of  a  still  more  ancient  race.^    So  much  did  he  feel 

1  The  author  rather  overestimates  the  ancient  character  of  the  artist's 
lineage.  His  full  name  was  Diego  Rodriguez  de  Silva  y  Velasquez. 
His  father,  Juan  de  Silva,  was  a  Portuguese,  who  came  to  Seville  from 
Oporto :  his  mother,  Geronima  Velasquez,  was  a  native  of  Seville.  Both 
were  of  the  inferior  nobility  (hidalgos),  and  neither  family  used  the 
title  Don.    It  was  a  common  custom  in  Andalusia  to  assume  the  ma~ 


524 


XCbe  Brt  of  Spain 


himself  an  ancient  Spanish  cavaHer  and  so  conscious 
was  he  of  his  dignity  as  master  of  his  majesty's 
household,  that  it  offended  him  to  be  regarded  as 
a  painter.  Nothing  that  could  remind  one  of  his  pro- 
fession can  be  seen  in  the  portrait  of  himself  in  the 
Uffizi ;  neither  the  palette  nor  even  the  eye  of  a  painter. 
Cold  and  proud,  distinguished  and  solemn  as  a  Spanish 
grandee,  he  looks  down  upon  the  beholders.  From  this 
endeavour  of  Velasquez  to  appear  as  a  courtier  rather 
than  a  painter  the  individuality  of  his  style  can  best 
be  explained.  He  is  separated  from  the  professional 
painters  by  a  similar  barrier  to  that  which  divided 
Goethe,  the  dignified  minister  of  state,  from  poor 
literati. 

According  to  the  usual  conception,  the  activity  of 
artists  consists  in  transfiguring  actuality  into  beauty. 
They  impress  upon  their  models  to  show  themselves 
from  the  most  affable  and  winning  side;  pose  them  so 
that  pleasing  lines  will  result,  determine  the  costume 
and  seek  by  pictorial  attitudes  to  enliven  the  portraits. 
As  painters  they  also  love  beauty  of  colour.  Rubens, 
the  powerful  sanguinist,  even  in  his  portraits  declaims 
fortissimo  in  noisy  colours  with  blending  reverberating 
tones.  Rembrandt,  the  master  of  light  and  shade, 
moves  in  dim  mysterious  harmonies  and  has  in  his 
Night  Watch  woven  about  a  simple  portrait  group  the 
charm  of  German  fable.    Others  consider  themselves 

ternal  in  addition  to  the  paternal  name.  Compare  Justi,  Felasque^ 
and  his  Times  (London,  1889),  pp.  59  sq. — Ed. 


lDelasqtte3 


525 


virtuosi  of  the  brush.  Hals  especially,  a  true  son  of  his 
warhke  century,  seems  to  stand  before  the  easel  with 
the  consciousness  of  wielding  a  hussar's  sword  instead 
of  the  brush. 

None  of  these  things  exist  for  Velasquez.  Of  him  is 
true  what  Nietzsche  wrote  about  Voltaire :  "  Wherever 
there  was  a  court  he  laid  down  the  law  of  court  speech 
and  with  it  the  law  of  style  for  all  writers.  The  courtly 
language,  however,  is  the  language  of  the  courtier  who 
has  no  profession,  and  who  even  in  scientific  conversa- 
tions avoids  all  handy,  technical  expressions  because 
they  smack  of  a  profession.  Technical  expressions 
and  anything  that  betrays  a  speciaHst  are  in  countries 
of  courtly  culture  considered  a  blemish  of  style." 
Velasquez  considered  everything  that  could  betray  the 
specialist  of  the  palette  a  blemish  of  style. 

For  all  extravagances  of  colour  he  had  an  instinctive 
distaste.  He  used  neither  blending  colours  Hke  Rubens 
nor  chiaroscuro  effects  like  Rembrandt,  nor  did  he 
even  know  of  an  interesting  treatment  of  Hght;  but 
painted  only  the  cool,  silver  tone  of  simple  daylight.  So 
great  was  his  moderation  in  colour  that  in  the  days  of 
asphalt  painting  it  was  said  of  him  that  he  did  not  un- 
derstand the  essence  of  colour;  since  all  of  his  pictures 
were  monochrome.  As  with  colour  so  he  also  avoids 
conspicuous  brush  work.  No  sketch  or  clever  im- 
provisation by  him  exists.  If  with  Hals  the  strokes  of 
the  brush  have  the  effect  of  sabre-cuts,  in  Velasquez 
one  observes  nothing  technical.   The  effect  is  obtained 


526 


XTbe  Hrt  of  Spain 


without  betraying  the  means.  As  Mengs  wrote: 
"With  nothing  but  the  will  alone  Velasquez  was  wont 
to  paint  his  pictures." 

Nor  does  he  otherwise  recognise  artistic  considera- 
tions. In  the  Surrender  of  Breda  he  feels  like  an  officer, 
and  nothing  can  induce  him  for  artistic  considerations 
to  deviate  from  military  rule.  He  is  a  master  huntsman 
in  his  pictures  of  hunts,  and  therefore  gives  no  free  im- 
provisation like  Rubens,  but  severe  historical  repre- 
sentation of  the  hunting  achievements  of  Phihp  IV.  In 
his  equestrian  portraits  he  feels  himself  the  master  of 
the  royal  stables  and  therefore  never  asks  whether  an 
attitude  is  artistic  or  beautiful.  Everything  must  be 
correct  and  bear  the  criticism  of  the  most  exacting 
sportsman;  the  position  of  the  rider  blameless  and 
the  gait  of  the  horses  such  as  would  not  offend  the  royal 
riding  school.  Likewise  in  his  pictures  of  royal 
audiences  he  is  the  master  of  ceremonies  and  not  a 
painter.  No  ideal  of  beauty,  but  the  rule  of  Spanish 
etiquette,  governs  his  creations.  He  who  more  than 
any  other  would  have  had  the  opportunity  to  invent  a 
costume  which  would  admit  of  freedom  and  pictorial 
rhythm,  not  only  confines  himself  strictly  to  the  con- 
ventional, but  treats  the  toilette  with  the  professional 
knowledge  of  a  superintendent  of  the  royal,  civil,  and 
military  wardrobe.  Even  less  would  he,  for  love  of  a 
beautiful  line,  have  deviated  from  the  regulations  of  the 
court  marshal's  office.  However  unnatural  all  these 
regulations  were,  his  aim  is  only  to  paint  this  unnatural 


yESOP 

Prado,  Madrid 


527 


with  the  greatest  conceivable  accuracy.  Every  offence 
against  the  regulations  of  court  ceremony  would  have 
seemed  to  him  ordinary  and  in  bad  taste. 

From  this  severe  conformity  to  court  etiquette  the 
aristocratic  effect  of  his  paintings  results.  The  beauti- 
ful gestures,  the  artistically  draped  curtains  which  can 
be  seen  in  other  court  portraits  were  considered  as 
cheap,  plebeian  beauty.  A  genuine  artistic  beauty 
pervades  the  works  of  Velasquez.  Just  because  he  did 
not  inject  artistic  notions  into  this  ancient  and  noble 
world,  his  pictures  reflect  so  overpoweringly  the  essence 
of  ancient  Spanish  royalty.  They  seem  works  which 
no  individual  but  the  spirit  of  royalism  has  created. 

When  Velasquez  died  in  1660  his  funeral  was 
celebrated  like  that  of  a  grandee.  The  entire 
court,  the  knights  of  all  orders  took  part  in  the 
ceremonies.    With  him  was  buried  the  art  of  Madrid. 

After  the  death  of  the  master,  his  son-in-law  Battista 
del  Mazo,  who  had  often  made  copies  of  his  portraits, 
continued  his  activity  in  Madrid.  Besides  his  copies 
of  Velasquez,  he  is  known  by  a  panorama  of  Saragossa, 
the  only  landscape  painted  during  this  period  in  Spain. 
The  court  painter  who  became  the  heir  of  Velasquez's 
offices  and  titles  was  Juan  Carreno  de  Miranda — no 
very  happy  lot,  for  his  task  was  to  paint  the  death 
struggle,  the  last  convulsions  of  the  Spanish  Hapsburg. 
Mariana  of  Austria,  the  regent,  who  in  Velasquez's 


Ube  Hrt  of  Spain 


first  pictures  still  preserved  a  touch  of  Viennese  smart- 
ness; has  now  become  a  bigoted  old  woman.  She  holds 
a  breviary  bound  in  black;  all  splendour  in  dress  is 
relinquished,  her  jewelry  laid  aside,  and  her  hair  buried 
under  the  black  widow's  veil.  Then  Charles  II.  be- 
came the  subject  for  Carreno  as  Philip  IV.  had  been  for 
Velasquez.  The  same  pale  cheeks,  the  same  receding 
lower  jaw,  the  same  soft  blond  hair  which  Velasquez 
had  so  often  painted,  he  also  rendered.  But  the  blue 
melancholy  eyes  are  no  longer  the  same:  they  stare 
without  expression,  stupid  and  empty  as  those  of 
Nino  de  Vallecas,  the  hydrocephalic  dwarf  who  con- 
cludes the  series  of  Velasquez's  pictures  of  idiots.  The 
family  tragedy  of  the  Hapsburgs  is  now  at  an  end. 

At  this  time  great  masters  lived  only  at  Seville,  where 
Spanish  religious  painting  found  its  final  expression. 
If  in  any  case,  it  is  to  be  deplored  in  that  of  Alonso 
Cano  that  the  history  of  Spanish  art  is  still  so  little 
known.  He  must  have  been  an  interesting  personality, 
this  young  man  with  sparkling  eyes,  impetuous 
demeanour,  and  the  manners  of  a  cavalier,  whose  sword 
was  always  ready  to  spring  from  the  scabbard.  To- 
gether with  Melzi,  Savoldo,  and  Boltralfio,  he  belongs 
to  that  group  which  may  be  called  the  ''aristocrats  of 
art  history."  The  circumstance  that  he  was  a  native 
of  Granada,  the  southernmost  city  of  Spain,  enables  us 
to  understand  more  fully  the  mixture  of  hrio  and  proud 
chivalry  which  speaks  so  charmingly  from  his  works. 
Before  them  one  thinks  of  cavaliers  fighting  duels,  of 


/IDurillo 


529 


challengers  and  seconds,  of  rapiers,  florets,  and  swords. 
The  lady  over  whom  they  are  fighting  is  called  Mary, 
Theresa,  or  Agnes ;  for  in  his  hands  Spanish  religious 
painting  was  transformed  into  knightly  love-service. 
Every  visitor  of  the  Berlin  Gallery  remembers  the 
wonderful  painting  of  St,  Agnes,  the  patroness  of 
chastity,  the  bride  of  God,  staring  with  her  great  brown 
Andalusian  eyes  into  the  infinite.  Every  visitor  to  the 
Munich  Pinakothek  recalls  the  Vision  of  St.  Anthony — 
Mary,  proud  as  a  Venus  Victrix  and  tender  as  a  Tanagra 
figurine,  looking  down  upon  the  pale  friar  who,  holding 
the  Christ-child  in  his  arms,  looks  up  to  her  in  soulful 
ecstacy.  This  is  no  religious  painting,  but  such  a  love- 
song  as  the  knightly  singers  of  the  middle  ages  daily 
offered  to  their  gentle  ladies.  How  daintily  sits  the 
crown  upon  the  small  austere  head  of  the  Madonna; 
with  what  exquisite  taste  he  has  arranged  the  veil,  the 
chaplet  of  pearls,  the  palm  and  lilies!  Or  he  depicts 
Mary  with  a  child  upon  her  lap,  dreaming  in  a  nocturnal 
landscape ;  she  has  no  halo,  but  the  stars  of  heaven  are 
grouped  into  a  glittering  wreath  behind  her.  Or  he 
paints  the  Entombment,  but  not  with  our  Lord's  earthly 
friends  gathered,  as  in  former  paintings,  about  the 
sepulchre;  angels  with  radiant  wings  hover  down  to 
support  the  pale  body. 

For  Spanish  naturalism  Juan  Parejas's  picture  in  the 
Madrid  Museum  representing  the  Calling  of  St.  Matthew 
is  especially  characteristic.  Uhde  and  Jean  Beraud 
have  gone  na  further  in  the  union  of  modern  with 


530 


Ube  Hit  of  Spain 


biblical  life.  As  the  cinquecento  had  banished  all 
portrait-figures  from  religious  paintings  so  the  age  of 
the  Counter-reformation  depicts  the  spiritual  directly 
projected  into  the  material  world.  Parejas  paints 
merely  the  office  of  a  tax  collector  where  Spanish 
gentlemen  in  the  costume  of  the  seventeenth  century 
are  seated,  and  into  this  room  enters  a  strange  gen- 
tleman in  simple  costume — Christ.  Claudio  Coello's 
picture  of  St.  Louis  shows  how  the  seventeenth  century, 
with  complete  disregard  of  the  sixteenth,  reaches 
back  to  the  pious  painting  of  the  quattrocento.  In  the 
foreground  stands  a  prince  in  the  knightly  costume 
of  the  period,  and  behind  him  is  the  Holy  Family,  with 
jubilant  angels  in  the  air.  That  Matteo  Cerezo  in  his 
principal  work  did  not  represent  the  Last  Supper  but 
the  Disciples  at  Emmaus  is  likewise  significant  for 
the  changed  views.  The  representation  of  a  historical 
event  is  less  congenial  to  the  mystic  tendencies  of  the 
time  than  the  theme  of  Christ  appearing  as  a  spirit 
among  the  disciples.  In  another  work,  which  bears  a 
remarkable  resemblance  to  a  picture  by  the  great 
idealist  of  our  own  day  (Watts's  Love  and  Life),  he 
represents  the  guardian  angel  leading  a  child  through 
life,  that  is  to  say,  a  new  version  of  the  legend  of  Tobias, 
so  popular  in  the  age  of  Savonarola. 

Murillo  drew  all  these  threads  together  into  his  hand 
and  entered  upon  the  heritage  of  Spanish  artistic 
achievement.  The  earliest  examples  of  his  work 
consisted  in  life-size  folk  subjects,  such  as  had  since 


jflDurUlo  531 


Ribera's  day  occupied  Spanish  painters.    Indeed,  in 
Germany,  one  thinks  especially  of  the  beggar-boys  of 
the  Munich  Pinakothek  when  Murillo's  name  is  men- 
tioned.   Here  a  couple  of  lads  cower  on  the  street  corner 
throwing  dice,  there  Httle  girl-venders  of  fruit  count 
their  gains,  or  brown  urchins  eat  their  meal  of  melons 
and  bread  crust  in  dirty  corners.    Like  Ribera,  Murillo 
is  in  such  pictures  an  incomparable  painter  of  still-life. 
The  velvety  surface  of  the  peach,  the  blue  skin  of  the 
grape,  the  rind  of  the  melon,  the  yellow  peel  of  the 
orange,  ripe  fruit  showing  juicy  cracks,  the  earthen 
jugs  and  woven  baskets  are  painted  with  fideUty  to 
the  substance  and  a  nobility  of  colour,  such  as  among 
later  still-Hfe  painters  only  Chardin  possessed.  One 
of  these  folk  pieces.  Las  Gallegas,  even  betrays  the 
fact  that  there  were  courtesans  in  severe,  ecclesiastical 
Spain. 

His  paintings  of  the  youthful  history  of  Christ  and 
Mary  are  also  rendered  in  the  manner  of  such  folk 
subjects.  In  his  Adoration  of  the  Shepherds  he  paints, 
like  Ribera,  poor,  sunburned  people  assembling  curi- 
ously about  the  cradle,  and  adds  an  entire  still-life  of 
pots,  straw  bundles,  and  animals.  If  the  Holy  Family 
is  represented,  he  leads  us  into  the  simple  workshop  of 
a  carpenter,  where  Mary  sits  winding  yarn,  and  Joseph, 
reposing  from  his  labour,  gazes  at  the  child  playing  with 
a  bird  or  a  Httle  dog.  In  the  picture  of  the  Education 
of  Mary  EHzabeth  wears  the  costume  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  and  Mary  looks  Uke  a  princess  by  Velasquez. 


532 


XTbe  Brt  of  Spain 


A  whole  cycle  of  such  subjects  was  united  in  the 
hospital  of  Seville.  As  Raphael  had  painted  in  the 
Vatican  the  philosophy  of  the  Renaissance,  so  Murillo 
depicted  the  ethics  of  the  Counter-reformation:  the 
works  of  Christian  neighbourly  love  and  the  blessings 
of  almsgiving.  The  feeding  of  the  hungry  is  interpreted 
by  means  of  the  biblical  miracle  of  the  loaves  and 
fishes;  the  supplying  of  drink  to  the  thirsty  by  Moses 
striking  the  rock  in  the  wilderness;  the  healing  of  the 
sick  by  the  history  of  the  man  with  the  palsy  at  the 
pool  of  Bethesda;  the  office  of  the  good  Samaritan  by 
St.  John  of  God  carrying  a  poor  man  who  has  fallen 
in  the  street  to  a  hospital;  hospitality  by  the  story  of 
the  Prodigal  Son.  St.  Thomas  of  Villanueva  Giving 
Alms,  and  the  Munich  picture,  St.  John  of  God  Healing  a 
Lame  Man,  are  further  examples  of  this  philanthropic 
naturalism. 

In  other  works  the  earthly  and  spiritual  are  har- 
moniously united.  Much  in  the  Birth  of  the  Virgin — 
the  bed  with  mother,  physician,  the  nurse,  and  visiting 
relatives — might  have  been  painted  by  a  realist  like 
Ghiriandajo.  But  among  the  maids  preparing  the 
bath  for  the  new-born  child,  the  angels  of  heaven  are 
busily  commingled.  In  the  Annunciation  one  seems 
to  look  through  the  attic  window  of  a  seamstress:  a 
basket  of  laundry  stands  before  Mary,  but  above  the 
heaven  is  opened,  and  God,  surrounderd  by  circles  of 
angels,  gazes  down. 

The  changes  in  the  types  of  religious  presentation 


/IDurillo 


533 


during  this  period  are  especially  conspicuous  in  this 
painting.  During  the  Renaissance  Mary  was  the 
glorious  queen;  here  she  is  a  simple  Andalusian  maiden, 
and,  be  it  noted,  she  is  younger  than  in  pictures  of  an 
earlier  epoch.  By  presenting  her  as  a  child,  shame- 
faced and  timid  as  a  nun,  they  emphasised  all  the  more 
the  doctrine  of  the  miraculous  birth  of  her  Son.  She 
must  appear  not  as  a  mother,  but  as  the  divine  being^ 
the  youthful  mother  of  God.  With  this  dogmatic  con- 
ception which  does  not  like  to  dwell  upon  the  earthly 
relation  of  mother  and  child  is  also  connected  the 
circumstance  that,  as  never  happened  at  an  earlier 
period,  Joseph  takes  the  place  of  Mary.  He  holds  a 
lily  upon  his  arm  as  a.  sign  of  his  innocence,  and  the 
Christ-child  with  the  gesture  of  Noli  me  tangere  stands 
upon  his  lap.  Even  in  the  pictures  of  Mary  the  two 
figures  are  seldom  placed  in  relationship  to  each  other. 
They  gaze  solemnly  upon  us  out  of  great  deep  eyes.  If 
the  Renaissance  had  changed  the  Madonna  into  a 
family  idyl,  the  Counter-reformation  reverted  to  the 
mediaeval  mosaics.  Only  from  the  dark  presentient 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  beholder  should  the  sentiment  of 
the  picture  be  developed. 

Even  when  Christ  appears  alone,  He  is  almost  always 
a  child.  He  wanders  thoughtfully  through  lonely 
deserts ;  rests  with  a  lamb  by  His  side  upon  the  pagan 
ruins;  as  the  Good  Shepherd,  staff  in  hand,  leads  His 
lambs  through  a  gloomy  wood;  meets  the  child  John 
in  the  forest.    He  may  not  appear  as  a  man  who  from 


534 


XTbe  Hrt  of  Spain 


His  own  power  became  a  prophet ;  for  the  mystery  is  all 
the  greater  if  through  a  child  who  cannot  think,  the 
Holy  Ghost  reveals  Himself. 

There  follow  the  many  works  with  which  he  treads 
his  most  proper  domain,  that  of  miraculous  apparitions, 
forebodings,  and  dreams.  St.  Francis  was  praying 
before  the  crucifix,  when  the  arm  of  Jesus  loosened 
itself  from  the  cross  and  rested  upon  the  shoulder  of 
the  mystic.  A  childless  couple  wished  to  make  some 
pious  foundation,  but  they  knew  not  how  or  where. 
At  night  Mary  in  a  pure  white  garment  appeared  to 
them,  and  told  them  it  must  be  upon  the  snow-  covered 
surface  of  the  Esquiline.  In  the  next  picture  they 
kneel  before  the  pope  and  recount  the  vision,  and  to  the 
right  a  procession  marches  to  the  new  house  of  God.^ 
His  Angels'  Kitchen  of  the  Louvre  is  dedicated  to  San 
Diego,  an  Andalusian  mendicant  friar,  who  was  such 
a  pious  man  and  longed  so  for  heaven  that  during 
prayer  he  arose  in  the  air.  This  occurred  upon  a  day 
when  the  monastery,  of  which  Diego  was  the  chief  cook, 
received  distinguished  visitors.  When  a  brother  and 
two  cavaliers  appeared  in  the  door  to  look  for  the 
dinner,  they  saw  him  suspended  in  mid-air,  while 
the  angels  of  heaven,  in  the  role  of  benevolent  brownies, 
are  doing  the  pious  brother's  work. 

But  not  only  the  angels  help  the  good  man;  even 
Mary  descends  to  her  worshippers.    As  in  the  days  of 

^  This  cycle  is  in  the  Academy  of  San  Fernando,  Madrid. 


/IDurillo 


535 


Savonarola,  she  appeared  especially  to  St.  Bernard, 
and  if  she  did  not  come  herself  she  sent  the  Christ-child. 
To  old  St.  Felix  soUciting  alms,  it  appeared  from 
heaven  and  nestled  for  a  kiss  upon  his  arm.  Even 
more  fondly  than  to  this  weather-beaten  grey  medi- 
cant  it  came  to  the  young  and  refmed  St.  Anthony,  in 
whose  cell  the  whisper  of  angel  voices  was  often  heard, 
and  who  when  asked  about  it,  answered:  "The  Httle 
Christ-child  is  visiting."  Murillo  treated  the  story  in 
four  paintings:  first  Anthony,  absorbed  in  prayer, 
does  not  even  observe  the  Christ-child,  who  is  sitting 
upon  his  book;  then  he  glances  up,  and,  trembling 
with  eagerness,  embraces  the  warm,  rosy  little  body. 

The  Immaculate  Conceptions  form  the  conclusion  of 
Murillo's  works.  All  painters  of  Seville  had  celebrated 
the  great  Christian  mystery,  but  none  more  frequently 
than  Murillo.  Not  upon  clouds,  as  in  the  Italian 
examples,  was  Mary  borne  to  heaven;  but  she  is  sus- 
pended serenely  in  the  ether,  which  is  filled  with 
gleaming,  golden,  fructifying  particles  of  the  sunlight. 
Her  eyes  are  not  full  of  inspiration  and  longing  as  in 
ItaUan  paintings;  but  glance  astonished  as  those  of  a 
child  gazing  upon  the  splendour  of  the  candles  of  a 
Christmas-tree. 

In  artistic  quaUties  all  of  these  works  vary  exceed- 
ingly, and  the  enthusiasm  for  Murillo  is,  at  all  events, 
no  longer  as  great  as  formerly.  At  the  beginning  of 
the  nineteenth  century,  when  through  the  Napoleonic 
wars  a  part  of  his  best  paintings  was  taken  from  Spain, 


536 


Ube  Hrt  of  Spain 


the  name  of  Murillo  signified  everything:  devotion, 
beauty,  love,  and  ecstacy.  He  was  the  first  Spaniard 
whom  Europe  learned  to  know,  and  his  appearance  was 
therefore  the  discovery  of  a  new  world.  When  later 
his  predecessors  became  known,  he  lost  much  of  his 
celebrity.  His  art  seems  in  many  respects  a  softening 
and  an  enervation  of  ancient  Spanish  virility;  Hke  a 
translation  of  Spanish  idiom  into  a  universal  language. 
He  possesses  neither  the  chivalry  of  Cano,  the  power  of 
Zurbaran,  nor  the  wild  force  of  Ribera;  but  a  certain 
mediocrity,  a  soft,  insinuating  sweetness  which  renders 
him  universally  comprehensible;  and  he  stands  in  the 
same  relation  to  his  predecessors  as  in  Italian  art 
Raphael  to  Michelangelo  and  Leonardo. 

This  gentle  afifabihty  may  be  partly  explained  by  the 
fact  that  Murillo  belongs  to  a  younger  generation. 
The  works  of  his  predecessors  are  full  of  the  ardour  of 
battle;  they  live  in  the  subjects  which  they  depict. 
With  glowing  passion  they  proclaim  the  doctrines  of 
Christianity,  battle  in  feverish  excitement  against 
paganism  in  the  church,  and  depict  martyrdoms  and 
visions  amidst  darkness  and  flashes  of  lightning. 
Murillo  represents  the  consummation  of  the  age.  The 
wild  bubbling  source  has  become  a  quiet  stream. 
What  had  excited  the  others  was  for  him  only  a  subject 
for  elegant  pictures.  He  is  never  crude,  abrupt,  harsh, 
or  puritanic,  but  interesting,  pleasing,  and  charming. 
The  quality  which  the  French  called  chic  has  conquered 
religious  painting,  and  transformed  the  saints  who  in 


MURILLO 


THE  IMMACULATE  CONCEPTION 

Louvre 


/IDurillo 


537 


the  beginning  were  so  threatening  into  dainty  toy- 
figures.  His  soft  and  dreamy  painting  resembles  a 
beautiful  summer  evening  after  the  thunder-storm  has 
passed,  and  the  quiet  sun  on  the  horizon  envelopes  the 
earth  in  its  rosy  light. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  effect  of  his  painting  is  less 
abrupt,  less  Spanish  than  that  of  his  predecessors, 
because  the  world  for  which  he  laboured  was  not 
bounded  by  such  narrow  walls.   Velasquez  was  the 
painter  of  the  court,  Zurbaran  the  painter  of  monks;  the 
former's  world  was  the  Alcazar,  the  latter's  the  mon- 
astery.   Murillo,  on  the  other  hand,  laboured  for  the 
cultured  circles  of  a  large  city.    His  pictures  in  the 
Hospital  of  Seville  might  be  termed  charity  concerts,  in 
which  he  reminds  the  well-to-do  of  those  who  suffer 
and  are  troubled.    He  depicts  the  return  of  the  prodigal 
son  as  though  it  were  an  event  in  middle-class  society. 
This  consideration  for  the  taste  of  the  bourgeoisie, 
which  wishes  to  see  nothing  that  would  cause  unpleasant 
sensations,  never  left  him.    If  Zurbaran  and  Ribera 
in  their  crude  veracity  resemble  Flaubert  and  Zola, 
Murillo  in  his  good  breeding  is  Uke  Ohnet  or  Marlitt. 
It  is  true  that  in  one  of  his  hospital  pictures  sick  people 
move  about  upon  crutches;  a  boy  is  having  the  sores 
of  his  head  washed,  and  a  man  lays  bare  his  knee, 
revealing  caries  of  the  shinbone.    But  these  gloomy 
events  are  only  represented  in  order  that  the  beauty 
and  the  goodness  of  the  dainty  Samaritans  may  shine 
the  more  brightly.   To  the  most  beautiful  maidens  of 


538 


Zbc  Brt  of  Spain 


Seville,  those  brown,  dark-eyed  children  described  by 
Merimee  in  Carmen,  he  assigns  the  role  of  the  Madonna ; 
and  even  his  beggar  boys  do  not  resemble  the  rude, 
dirty  rabble  of  Ribera.  He  cuts  and  polishes  their 
nails,  makes  them  so  presentable  that  even  one  who 
would  avoid  contact  with  the  actual  objects  loves  to 
gaze  upon  them  when  painted.  This  is  the  explanation 
why  these  pictures  were  considered  masterpieces  at  a 
time  when  such  subjects  were  otherwise  tabooed,  and 
why  it  was  through  Murillo  that  at  the  beginning  of  the 
nineteenth  century  the  taste  for  Spanish  paintings 
became  so  widespread.  All  others  were  too  harsh,  too 
aristocratic,  too  reserved.  Murillo,  the  painter  of  the 
old  Spanish  bourgeoisie,  spoke  the  language  most 
comprehensible  to  the  nineteenth  century,  and  won  the 
heart  by  the  same  qualities  which  once  made  Palma 
Vecchio,  and  later  Angelica  Kaufmann,  Friederich  Au- 
gust Kaulbach,  and  Nathaniel  Sichel  the  favourites  of 
their  day. 

After  him  there  came  only  Jose  Antolinez,  a  soft, 
rather  insipid  and  coquettish  painter,  whose  favourite 
subjects  were  blond  Magdalens  and  Blessed  Virgins  in 
glory.  With  the  younger  Herrera  Spanish  religion 
became  a  purely  theatrical  sentiment.  A  child  of  the 
world,  he  dallied  with  the  figures  of  religion  as  much  in 
the  manner  of  an  operetta  as  Filippino  Lippi  had  done 
in  Italy.  Everything  is  dissolved  in  the  perfume  of 
roses  and  violets.  The  last  Spaniard,  Don  Juan  de 
Valdes  Leal,  the  daemonic  and  gloomy  master,  is  hardly 


/IDurillo 


539 


to  be  counted  in  this  time.  His  weird  and  gloomy  pic- 
ture depicting  the  coffms  and  decayed  corpses,  over 
which  a  hand  from  the  clouds  holds  a  scale,  already 
announces  the  blood-curdling  etchings  created  in  the 
following  century  by  Goya. 


Cbapter  Ullll 


XTbe  Sensual  Hrt  ot  jf  lanDers 
ir.  IRubens 

FROM  Spain  the  way  leads  to  Flanders ;  for  Fland- 
ers was  in  the  seventeenth  century  a  province  of 
Spain.  In  this  country  the  religious  wars  had 
raged  with  especial  force.  The  year  of  the  iconoclasts, 
1566,  was  the  acme  of  Protestant  power.  Singing 
psalms  the  Puritans  marched  through  the  streets, 
pressed  into  cathedrals  and  monasteries,  burning  and 
destroying  every  work  of  art  they  found.  In  three 
days  four  hundred  churches  and  chapels  were  de- 
vastated, and  the  streets  were  covered  with  broken 
pictures  of  the  Virgin,  the  venerable  products  of 
Flemish  art.  Then  the  reaction  came.  The  con- 
servative separated  from  the  "storm  and  stress" 
elements;  Alba  appeared  in  Brussels  and  the  land  fell 
into  his  iron  hand. 

Flanders  became  the  citadel  of  Jesuitism  in  the  North, 
and  the  air  of  the  Spanish  court  pervaded  the  land. 
Archduke  Albert  and  his  consort  Isabella,  the  daughter 
of  Philip  II.,  who  ruled  the  land  as  a  fief  of  the  Spanish 
crown,  erected  churches  and  monasteries  everywhere. 

540 


•Rubens 


541 


Like  black  swarms  of  grasshoppers,  bands  of  foreign 
priests  descended  upon  the  land. 

One  would  therefore  expect  to  find  in  Flanders  an 
art  similar  to  the  Spanish;  an  art  uniting  gloomy 
fanaticism  with  the  hot  breath  of  ecstatic  fervour. 
Yet  the  contrary  is  true.  The  churches  have  not  the 
same  gloomy  effect,  the  mystic  twilight  that  pervades 
the  Spanish,  but  rather  that  of  gigantic  festal  halls, 
where  sumptuous  magnificence  and  gold  gleaming 
splendour  greets  the  eye.  In  the  midst  of  this  festal 
magnificence  hang  pictures  just  as  sumptuous  and 
loudly  reverberating.  In  Spain  the  colours  are  gloomy 
brown,  here  flashing  red  and  jubilant;  there  asceticism 
and  ecstatic  fervour,  here  sensual  elation;  there  world- 
forsaking  mysticism,  here  exuberant  vitality  and 
power;  there  mortification  of  the  flesh,  here  a  full- 
blooded,  over-healthful  epicureanism. 

It  seems  almost  incredible  after  the  puritanism  with 
which  the  Counter-reformation  began.  Then  artists 
had  been  forbidden  to  represent  the  nude,  in  order  that 
they  should  not  "offend  God  and  give  men  a  bad 
example";  even  the  sexless  nudity  of  Michelangelo's 
Last  Judgment  seemed  so  offensive  that  the  figures  had 
to  be  clothed.  The  Flemish  pictures  are  alive  with 
naked  human  bodies,  and  these  bodies  are  fat  and  soft. 
The  art  of  the  Counter-reformation,  v/hich  began  with 
the  prohibition  of  the  nude,  ended  with  the  apotheosis 
of  the  flesh.  In  the  beginning  antique  statues  were 
removed  from  public  places,  or  if  clothed  were  trans- 


542  Ube  Hrt  ot  jf landers 


formed  by  change  of  attributes  into  Christian  saints. 
The  artists  fearfully  avoided  the  domain  of  the  antique. 
The  Flemish  painters  dealt  almost  more  with  the  gods 
and  goddesses  of  Olympus  than  with  the  saints  of  the 
church,  and  used  antiquity  as  well  as  Christianity  to 
sing  the  joyful  praise  of  the  flesh.  Nor  does  the  church 
call  them  before  the  tribunal  of  the  Inquisition  as  it 
had  called  Paolo  Veronese,  but  laughingly  gives  her 
blessing.  The  Catholicism  of  the  Counter-reformation, 
in  the  beginning  so  incomprehensively  rigid,  became  in 
Flanders  a  joyful  religion,  serving  not  only  for  the 
spiritual  but  also  for  the  fleshly  needs  of  her  children. 

The  explanation  of  this  strange  phenomenon  is  to  be 
found  in  the  fact  that  the  spirit  of  the  Counter-reforma- 
tion in  Flanders  had  to  reckon  with  the  sensual  temper- 
ament of  a  crude,  pleasure-loving  people.  But  in  the 
first  instance  the  difference  in  time  must  be  considered. 
The  development  of  art  from  1 560  to  1650  illustrates  the 
history  of  a  Counter-reformation.  When  the  reform 
began  the  church  was  in  danger ;  now  her  dominion  has 
been  restored,  more  splendid  than  ever  before,  and  the 
church  militant  has  become  the  church  triumphant. 
The  subjugation  of  Flanders,  in  particular,  was  an 
astonishing  result  of  carefully  planned  Jesuitic  activity. 
This  triumph  of  Catholicism  is  reflected  in  the  works 
of  the  Baroque  period.  In  Caravaggio's  and  Ribera's 
time  the  pictures  were  solemn,  gloomy,  and  defiant; 
now  they  are  festal  and  joyful  and  representative  of  the 
age.  With  clanging  music  Jesuitism  marched,  proclaim- 


IRubcns 


543 


ing  its  victory  through  the  valleys  of  Flanders.  It  did 
not  fear  art,  which  had  rendered  important  services  in 
the  labour  of  conversion.  More  quickly  than  the  sword 
could  have  done,  it  won  men  by  contrasting  with  the 
puritanic  zeal  of  the  iconoclasts  the  attractive  pomp 
of  Catholic  pageantry.  Humanism  also,  whose  excesses 
had  once  given  the  impetus  to  the  great  movement,  was 
no  longer  dangerous,  and  the  church  only  gained  by 
again  posing  as  the  protector  of  learning.  Thus  the 
Counter-reformation,  although  it  had  in  the  beginning 
assumed  a  hostile  attitude  towards  the  Renaissance,  now 
entered  upon  the  entire  heritage  of  the  Hellenic  spirit 
of  the  Renaissance. 

The  painter  to  whom  this  great  heritage  was  trans- 
mitted is  named  Rubens.  He  was,  generally  speak- 
ing, what  Ghirlandajo  had  been  in  the  fifteenth  century 
and  Raphael  in  the  sixteenth.  He  belongs  neither  to 
the  inquiring  minds  who  attempt  the  solution  of  new 
problems  nor  to  those  whose  works  are  confessions  of 
the  soul.  In  Veronese  the  Renaissance  and  in  Murillo 
the  Counter-reformation  passed  away;  it  was  Rubens's 
achievement  to  reconcile  the  two  previously  separated 
worlds,  the  Counter-reformation  and  the  Renaissance. 

The  art  of  the  Counter-reformation  in  its  hostility  to 
sensuality  had  reached  that  psychic  domain  where 
the  unnatural  begins.  The  sensuousness  of  St.  Anthony 
embracing  the  Christ-child  is  perverse,  as  is  also  that  of 
the  monk  adoring  the  Immaculate  Mary.  After  this 
condition  of  hysterical  over-excitement,  Rubens  led  art 


544  XTbe  Hrt  of  jflan^ers 


back  to  a  healthy  Hellenic  sensualism.  His  whole 
activity  is  like  a  great  reaction  against  the  spiritual 
tendencies  of  the  Spanish  school.  The  Counter-reform- 
ation had  transformed  sensual  to  spiritual:  Rubens 
tears  the  mask  of  Tartuffe  from  its  countenance  and 
leads  back  sensuality  to  its  proper  domain.  It  is  no 
accident  that  he  is  so  fond  of  painting  the  passion  of 
animals:  lions,  tigers  and  leopards,  bears  and  wolves; 
for  he  himself  has  something  of  the  character  of  a 
beautiful,  powerful  animal,  and  he  stands  among  other 
painters  like  a  stallion  among  horses.  He  appears  in 
an  age  of  heated  fantasy  like  a  centaur,  like  one  of  those 
beings  in  whom  the  human  head  is  united  with  the 
horse's  body,  typifying  the  strength,  wildness,  and 
sensual  desire  of  the  animals.  Instead  of  self-denial 
he  paints  passion,  instead  of  psychic  ecstacy  over- 
flowing physical  power.  The  excited  visions  of  the 
pietists  he  confronts  with  healthy  animal  desire,  the 
spiritual  erotics  of  Theresa  with  the  passion  of  primeval 
man.  In  a  country  where  religion  had  caused  the  most 
blood  to  flow  a  painter  extolled  the  eternal  procreative 
powers  of  nature.  His  appearance  in  the  history  of 
painting  signifies  a  similar  moment  to  what  art  had 
experienced  a  hundred  years  earlier,  when  the  asceticism 
of  the  epoch  of  Savonarola  was  followed  by  the  triumph 
of  sensuality.  But  the  works  of  those  days  seem  tame 
and  modest  in  comparison  to  the  orgy  which  now  began. 
It  was  just  this  fruitless  psychic  exaltation  into  which 
the  new  Catholicism  had  fallen  that  excited  sensuality 


IRubena 


545 


to  the  fever  pitch.  Therefore  it  now  seemed  as  if  the 
dykes  had  burst.  Like  the  irresistible  flood  was  the 
onward  rush  of  sensuality,  overflowing  and  tearing 
down  everything  before  it. 

His  Kirmess  of  the  Louvre  and  those  social  subjects 
which  he  called  conversations  d  la  mode  form  the  intro- 
duction to  his  work.  In  the  Kirmess  men  and  women 
join  in  a  wild  orgy  not  before  a  tavern  door,  but 
upon  a  wide  open  field.  In  the  reckless  dance  one 
fellow  has  thrown  his  arm  about  the  body  of  a  woman ; 
another,  shouting,  lifts  his  partner  into  the  air;  a  third 
seizes  his  closely,  pressing  her  at  the  same  time  with 
arms,  legs,  breast,  and  lips;  yet  another  has  thrown  his 
to  the  ground.  In  more  distinguished  circles  there  is 
greater  propriety,  but  the  theme  is  likewise  love. 
Before  a  fountain  in  the  form  of  a  female  statue  from 
whose  full  breasts  thick  streams  of  water  spout,  ladies 
and  gentlemen  are  seated.  Here  a  couple  assume  the 
position  for  a  dance;  there  young  men  play  the  lute; 
there  again  beautiful  women,  with  cupids  hovering 
over,  approach.  The  santa  conversazione  of  the  Renais-  - 
sance  has  been  transformed  into  the  conversation  d  la 
mode.  These  two  pictures  reveal  all  the  qualities  of 
Rubens.  As  the  Flemish  people  are,  so  they  wish 
their  saints  to  be.  Although  Rubens's  activity  included 
all  branches  of  painting — religious,  mythological, 
landscape,  portrait,  and  animal — it  is  all  held  together 
by  one  bond:  the  warm-blooded,  fiery  sensuality 
pulsating  through  all.    After  men  had  for  so  long  been 


546  XTbe  Hrt  ot  Jf  landers 


consumed  by  hysteric  longing,  the  necessity  of  holding 
warm  and  living  flesh  in  their  arms  was  so  great  that, 
with  all  the  ostensible  difference  of  the  pictures,  the 
theme  is  at  bottom  always  the  same:  the  apotheosis 
of  the  flesh. 

The  beholder  must  therefore  not  expect  to  fmd  very 
edifying  qualities  in  Rubens's  religious  pictures.  All 
the  delicate,  fine  shades  of  sentiment  which  the  old 
masters  expressed  are  strange  to  him.  He  has  a  feeling 
only  for  the  crude,  massive,  and  sensually  powerful.  In- 
stead of  genuine  feeling  and  soul,  one  fmds  in  Rubens's 
pictures  only  aesthetic  poses  and  fat  human  flesh.  All 
his  holy  women  are  so  mighty  in  flesh  and  have  such 
corpulent  bodies  that  one  has  little  belief  in  their 
sanctity.  All  of  his  male  saints  are  colossal  fellows 
who  are  impressive  more  by  reason  of  athletic,  mus- 
cular power  than  psychic  greatness.  The  spirit  of 
Christianity  is  so  transformed  into  its  opposite  that  even 
the  old  doctrine  of  the  mortification  of  the  flesh  is  ex- 
pressed by  means  of  figures  of  the  greatest  imaginable 
corpulency. 

From  the  Old  Testament  he  selects  scenes  like 
Susanna's  Bath  or  the  Captivity  of  Samson,  which  give 
opportunity  for  the  introduction  of  voluptuous  female 
bodies  or  of  pleasing  his  stormy  sentiment  by  battle 
and  slaughter.  Mary,  the  spotless  maiden  of  Spanish 
art,  here  resembles  rather  the  Aphrodite  Pandemos. 
A  thick  garland  of  fruit  which  fat-cheeked  sturdy 
angels  wind  about  the  picture  heightens  the  succulent. 


IRubens 


547 


sensual  effect.  If  instead  of  Mary  other  saints  (Mag- 
dalen, Cecilia,  or  Catherine)  are  painted,  the  change  of 
name  necessitates  no  change  of  character.  It  is  always 
the  same  voluptuous  woman  of  Brabant,  with  the 
decollete  clinging  silk  dress.  As  he  loves  the  Adoration 
of  the  Kings  only  because  it  gives  opportunity  to  display 
pomp  and  splendour  and  to  let  the  sun's  rays  glitter 
upon  damask  robes,  so  in  the  Slaughter  of  the  Innocents. 
where  the  sentiment  is  one  of  suffering  and  gloomy 
despair,  he  preserves  the  same  sensual  qualities.  The 
Crucifixion  of  Christ  gives  the  opportunity  of  painting 
noble,  manly  bodies  of  the  highest  muscular  develop- 
ment; the  risen  Lazarus  is  a  robust  athlete,  whom  the 
sojourn  in  the  grave  had  not  injured,  and  his  sisters 
also  use  the  opportunity  to  display  their  mighty  forms. 
As  in  this  case  there  is  nothing  of  the  mysteries  of  death, 
so  the  repentant  sinners  bending  before  the  Redeemer 
show  neither  regret  nor  repentance.  Christ  is  a  beautiful 
man  with  noble  gestures,  and  Magdalen  a  voluptuous 
sinner,  whose  contrition  is  not  very  deep.  Even  the 
Last  Judgment,  in  which  the  old  masters  were  wont  to 
express  the  whole  faith  of  their  childish  souls,  is  for 
Rubens  only  a  cascade  of  human  bodies  affording  him 
the  opportunity  to  juggle  with  the  nude  and  scatter 
them  through  the  air  like  a  giant  emptying  a  tub  of 
colossal  fishes. 

The  antique  is  not  necessarily  the  domain  of  the 
senses.  When  one  hundred  years  earlier  Mantegna 
painted  his  antique  pictures,  he  sought  with  scientific 


548  Ube  Brt  of  jflan^ers 


severity  to  restore  the  image  of  the  Roman  world,  its 
architectural  forms  and  costumes,  its  implements  and 
customs.  In  contrast  to  this  intellectual  classicism 
contemporary  Romanticists  sought  antiquity  with  the 
spirit.  For  Piero  di  Cosimo,  Greece  was  a  vanished, 
enchanted  kingdom,  the  land  of  witchcraft  and  fable; 
but  Botticelli,  the  disciple  of  Savonarola,  remained  even 
in  his  antique  pictures  a  Christian  painter.  Not  the 
stupefying  perfume  of  the  roses  of  Aphrodite  but  the 
sentiment  of  the  cloister  is  wafted  from  his  pictures. 
One  could  think  of  his  Venus  sitting,  like  silent  Mary, 
upon  a  festal  throne  crowned  with  cold  white  flowers. 
Then  follow  the  pictures  of  Correggio  and  Sodoma,  who 
endowed  the  figures  of  the  antique  world  with  the 
quivering,  erotic  sentiment  of  the  age  of  Leonardo;  and 
further  those  works  of  the  High  Renaissance  which 
imbued  the  antique  with  majestic  nobility.  Before 
Titian's  pictures  one  has  the  feeling  of  tarrying  in 
Hellenic  ihermce,  where  in  classic  restfulness  noble  and 
distinguished  figures  move  about.  A  change  came  with 
Poussin,  who,  as  a  follower  of  Mantegna  and  a  pre- 
decessor of  Schinkel,  sought,  with  all  the  accessories  of 
his  great  scholarship,  to  restore  the  architecture  and 
the  applied  arts  of  the  ancients.  Ribera  and  the  other 
painters  of  martyrdoms  discovered  that  among  the 
Greeks  also  martyrs  had  been  flayed  and  chained. 
With  Rubens  the  antique  is  a  great  butcher-shop. 

Upon  the  subjects  which  he  portrayed  a  book  has 
been  written,  in  which  it  is  proved  that  in  his  two  hun- 


IRubens 


549 


dred  and  eighty  mythological  pictures  nearly  all  the 
scenes  are  treated  which  occur  in  the  works  of  Homer, 
Virgil,  Ovid,  Plutarch,  and  Livy.  But  this  achievement 
of  science  is  love's  labour  lost ;  for  Rubens  only  treasured 
the  antique  because  he  took  pleasure  in  the  strong 
and  healthy  female  nudes  and  because  it  gave  him  the 
opportunity  to  depict  exuberant  power  and  stormy 
movement.  After  the  transcendental  longing  and 
mystic  ecstacy  of  an  earlier  day  men  wished  to  see 
flesh.  He  therefore  knows  no  difference  of  types. 
Neither  majestic  Juno,  nor  slender  and  supple  Minerva, 
nor  chaste  and  severe  Diana  exists  for  him;  the  same 
fat  heroines  with  straw-coloured  hair,  watery  blue  eyes, 
and  mighty  hips  always  recur.  Corpulent,  sturdy,  and 
piquant  is  Venus,  but  just  as  fleshy  is  Diana,  the  virgi- 
nal goddess  of  the  chase,  as  if  she  were  more  accustomed 
to  repose  upon  downy  cushions  than,  spear  in  hand,  to 
follow  the  stag.  It  is  characteristic  of  Rubens  that, 
often  as  he  represented  Venus,  the  type  of  the  goddess 
reposing,  which  was  so  popular  during  the  Renaissance, 
never  once  occurs.  Easy  repose  was  no  theme  for 
Rubens,  who  could  only  conceive  of  a  voluptuous  body 
in  motion  or  glowing  with  passion.  Jupiter  approaches 
the  fair  Antiope,  Amazons  join  in  battle,  the  Dioscuri 
carry  off  the  daughters  of  Leucippus,  centaurs  gallop 
across  the  landscape  in  pursuit  of  a  maiden,  or  satyrs 
assault  Diana's  nymphs.  These  pictures  of  satyrs, 
introducing  the  theme,  ''And  in  glowing  passion  the 
faun  held  the  nymph  fast,"  are  introduced  in  ever  new 


550  Ube  Hrt  of  Jflant)er5 


variations;  and  bacchanalia  treating  fortissimo  the 
theme  of  drunkenness  and  passion  form  the  acme 
of  Rubens's  glorification  of  stormy  sensuaHsm.  Great 
masses  of  colossal  femininity  are  displayed;  in  untamed 
passion  the  distended  bodies  press  each  other;  bacchic 
pairs  in  wild  sensual  embrace  storm  about.  Thus  the 
hysteria  of  the  earlier  day  is  followed  by  satyriasis. 

His  allegorical  pictures  are  distinguished  from  the 
mythological  only  by  their  titles.  He  paints  the  four 
parts  of  the  world  sitting  together  united  only  by  love, 
surrounded  by  powerful  animals  and  the  symbols  of 
truthfulness.  He  models  a  historic  theme  like  the  Life 
of  Maria  de'  Medici^  in  such  a  manner  that  it  is  at  the 
same  time  a  hymn  to  human  flesh.  Although  he  here 
portrays  the  age  in  which  he  had  himself  lived,  and 
diplomatic  events  in  which  he  had  taken  part,  he  does 
not  confme  himself  to  the  historic  costumes,  or  even  to 
historic  subjects,  but  sets  all  Olympus  in  motion.  In 
the  midst  of  the  assembly  of  historical  personages,  nude 
geniuses,  gods,  and  goddesses  are  mingled.  Water 
nymphs  guide  the  ships  of  Queen  Maria,  and  sturdy 
putti  carry  her  heavy  brocaded  train.  It  might  be 
expected  that  the  figure  of  Truth  who  is  lifted  aloft 
by  Time  would  be  naked;  but  the  gloomy  fates 
spinning  the  thread  of  the  queen's  life  also  gleam  in 
voluptuous  nudity. 

His  landscapes  form  a  supplement  to  this  tendency. 

'  The  author  here  refers  to  the  series  oi'  the  twenty-four  decorations 
for  the  Luxembourg  Palace,  Paris,  painted  after  Rubens's  designs  by 
his  pupils,  and  now  occupying  a  separate  room  in  the  Louvre. 


IRuDens 


551 


He  paints  neither  characteristic  selections  from  nature 
nor  a  barren  landscape  of  delicate  restrained  tones. 
As  in  his  historical  painting  he  loves  only  flesh  and 
corpulency,  and  knows  only  the  two  poles  of  over- 
flowing sensuality  and  raging  struggle,  so  as  a  land- 
scapist  he  has  painted  nature  only  in  opulent  comfort 
or  in  moments  of  upheaval  when  elementary  powers 
are  let  loose.  In  the  foreground  of  one  of  his  Munich 
pictures  a  cow  is  being  milked  whose  fat  swollen  udder 
symbolises  the  sentiment  pervading  the  earth.  In 
another  picture  a  rainbow  appears  in  the  heavens; 
the  struggle  of  the  elements  is  past,  everything  glitters 
with  moisture,  and  the  trees  rejoice  like  fat  children 
who  have  just  had  their  breakfast.  At  Windsor, 
Vienna,  and  Florence  other  landscapes  are  preserved  in 
which  the  power  of  the  elements  is  let  loose;  a  raging 
storm  dashes  over  mighty  tree-tops,  and  lightning 
strikes  down  from  storm-laden  clouds.  The  waters 
break  their  barriers,  sweeping  away  ancient  trees  and 
mighty  cattle.  Sometimes  he  tells  of  all  the  earth's 
delight  when  fructifying  rain  descends;  of  fat  steers 
driven  to  pasture;  of  Flemish  peasant  women  with  ripe 
sheaves  of  grain  striding  over  the  rich  soil  of  Brabant. 
Passion  and  fruitfulness,  desire  and  reUef— such  are 
his  themes. 

In  speaking  of  Rubens's  portraits  one  first  thinks  of 
Hel^ne  Fourment,  the  spicy  blonde  whom  he  married 
in  1630;  for  it  is  characteristic  of  this  master  that  at 
the  age  of  fifty-three  he  married  a  girl  of  sixteen  years. 


552  Zbc  Hrt  of  ]flan&ers 


It  is  no  less  significant  that  it  was  Helene;  for  in  her  he 
found  the  genius  of  his  art.  Not  many  thoughts  were 
treasured  in  her  pretty  animal  head,  but  she  was 
healthy,  tuU-blooded,  and  overflowing  with  life — a  real 
Rubens.  And  as  he  married  a  woman  who  appeared 
as  if  he  himself  had  painted  her,  he  painted  others  as 
if  they  belonged  to  Helene's  family.  Whether  aristo- 
crats or  scholars,  gentlemen  or  ladies,  they  are  all  of 
blooming,  exuberant  life,  of  overflowing,  full-blooded 
power.  Although  they  wear  the  pompous  garments  of 
the  seventeenth  century,  they  seem  to  live  in  a  para- 
disiac condition;  not  "sicklied  o'  er  with  the  pale  cast 
of  thought/'  but  more  bodies  than  souls,  more  animal 
than  spiritual.  Even  the  personages  whom  he  painted  in 
1628  at  the  Spanish  court  have  not  the  withered  charm 
of  a  waning  race.  The  weary  Philip  IV.,  cold  Isabella 
of  Bourbon,  and  pale  Ferdinand  are  transformed  into 
fresh,  joyful,  healthy  beings.  As  in  his  historical 
paintings,  so  also  in  his  portraits  he  proclaims  the 
doctrine  that  physical  and  spiritual  health  are  the 
greatest  treasures  bestowed  upon  mankind. 

As  our  own  time  cannot  boast  of  such  health,  Ru- 
bens's  works  seem  stranger  than  those  of  the  remaining 
masters  of  the  seventeenth  century.  We  are  too  much 
accustomed  to  subtle  and  delicate  charms  to  endure 
this  eternal  fortissimo.  We  are  too  weakly,  too  nervous 
for  this  crude,  animal  intoxication  of  the  senses  to  have 
any  further  effect  than  to  frighten  us.  But  we  can 
understand  that  after  an  age  of  oppressive,  cerebral 


RUBENS 


CASTOR  AND  POLLUX  CARRYING  OFF  THE  DAUGHTERS  OF  LEUCIPPUS 

Munich  Gallery 


Contemporaries  of  IRubens  553 


erotics  such  a  perversely  healthy  sensuality  must  have 
followed.  That  Rubens  himself  regarded  this  activity 
in  this  spirit  is  proved  by  the  motto  over  the  door  of 
his  workshop:  Mens  sana  in  corpore  sano. 

•ffH.  Zbc  Contemporarie0  of  IRubens 

Corpulent  Flemish  healthfulness  is  the  charac- 
teristic also  of  other  painters  who  were  at  the 
same  time  active  in  Flanders.  Whether  they  paint 
nude  women,  animals,  or  landscapes,  they  are  all 
able  workmen,  sensual  and  coarse  in  spirit;  men  who  in 
their  overflowing  health  take  intense  delight  in  the 
material  world. 

Jacob  Jordaens  in  particular  is  a  genuine  Flemish 
bear,  and  compared  with  the  aristocratic  Rubens  a 
clumsy  plebeian.  His  portrait  of  himself  indicates  this 
difference.  In  contrast  to  Rubens,  who  in  all  of  his 
pictures  wears  a  plush  coat  and  golden  chain,  Jordaens, 
the  descendant  of  a  dealer  in  second-hand  clothes, 
looks  like  a  coarse-grained  proletarian.  The  fact  that 
he  was  a  Calvinist  gave  his  painting  a  different  char- 
acter. It  has  only  the  Flemish  heaviness  and  nothing 
of  the  noisy  swing,  the  festal  pompousness  of  the  art 
of  the  Jesuits.  He  delights  in  massive  shoulders,  plump 
bodies,  the  brown  fatty  skins  of  satyrs,  and  the  odour 
of  the  stable;  and  heaps  up  ffshes,  geese,  chickens,  pigs, 
sausages,  eggs,  milk,  bread— fat  and  heavy  nutriment— 
beside  the  figures  of  his  pictures.  In  his  Adoration  of 
the  Shepherds  at  Antwerp,  weather-browned  fellows 


554  Uhc  Hrt  of  Jflan^ers 


unwashed  and  uncombed,  press  forward  towards  a  fat 
peasant  woman.  A  child  in  a  yellow  jacket  represent- 
ing Jesus  holds  an  egg  and  a  bird's  nest;  a  great  dog 
and  a  woman  with  a  mighty  milk-pot  stand  beside 
him.  Under  the  title  of  the  Prodigal  Son  or  Noah's 
Ark  he  paints  animal  pieces  of  exuberant  power.  The 
scene  of  the  youthful  Christ  Teaching  in  the  Temple 
is  laid  in  a  tavern,  where  the  young  lad  astonishes 
fat  burghers  by  his  answers.  The  only  antique  picture 
that  he  painted  is  a  carousal:  the Jupiter  Nourish- 
ed by  the  Goat  Amalthea  in  the  Antwerp  Gallery.  The 
obese,  pursy  nymph,  the  goat  with  her  overflowing 
udders;  the  fat  little  Jupiter  who,  although  holding  the 
milk  bottle,  still  yells  for  nourishment;  the  brown  satyr 
and  the  succulent  things  lying  upon  the  ground — all 
are  highly  characteristic  of  Jordaens,  the  painter  of 
gluttony  and  love. 

Usually  he  dispenses  even  with  biblical  and  mytho- 
logical titles.  The  orgies  of  a  kirmess  are  his  true 
domain.  In  the  Festival  of  the  Three  Kings  an  old 
man  with  a  pouch  sips  from  his  wine-glass,  a  soldier 
embraces  a  fat  maiden:  all  drink,  shout,  or  eat.  One 
has  gone  so  far  that  his  paunch  will  no  longer  hold  the 
load,  and  even  the  cat  staggers  about,  as  if  drunken, 
upon  the  floor.  If  instead  of  the  above  subject  the 
proverb  As  the  old  sang  so  the  young  twitter  is 
treated,  there  is  little  change.  He  only  paints  the  joy 
of  gluttony,  how  man  eats,  drinks,  and  digests; 
a    Gargantua  with    an    enormous    appetite  who 


Contemporaries  ot  IRubens  555 


has  seated  himself  in  the  navel  of  the  nourishing 
earth. 

The  following  artists  laboured  more  in  the  pompous, 
swinging  style  of  Rubens:  Abraham  van  Diepenbeeck, 
Theodor  van  Thulden,  Cornelis  Schut,  and  Jaspar  de 
Grayer.  Diepenbeeck  used  the  theme  of  the  Flight  of 
Clcelia,  and  Thulden  the  Triumph  of  Galatea  to  display 
female  bodies  from  all  sides.  Schut  and  Grayer  supplied 
the  need  for  religious  pictures:  in  the  beginning  nat- 
uraUstic  and  crude,  later  flashy  and  dazzling. 

As  a  portrait  painter  Gornelis  de  Vos  developed  a 
great  activity  by  the  side  of  Rubens,  and  his  portraits 
are  characteristic  of  the  representative  courtly  spirit 
which  under  the  influence  of  Spanish  etiquette  came 
into  Flemish  family  life.  He  painted  seldom  individual 
portraits,  but  almost  always  monumental  family  groups. 
All  of  these  people  seem  to  dwell  in  palaces.  The 
background  is  a  pompous  columnar  architecture  with 
boldly  puffed  and  broadly  falling  curtains;  or  else  the 
family  is  seated  upon  a  veranda,  with  an  open  prospect 
on  the  palace  and  garden.  Vos  is  older  than  Diepen- 
beeck and  Jordaens,  as  is  betrayed  by  his  severe  and 
almost  rigid  manner.  Instead  of  the  picturesque 
breadth  of  the  younger  generation,  incisive  drawing  is 
the  prevailing  feature  of  his  work,  which  is  treated 
in  the  manner  of  Antonis  Mor  and  Frans  Pourbus.  Of 
his  smaller  portraits,  the  Steward  of  the  Guild  of  St.  Luke, 
in  the  Museum  of  Antwerp,  and  that  of  his  little  daugh- 
ter in  the  Berlin  Gallery  are  celebrated.   In  the  forme- 


556  TLbc  Hrt  of  jflan^ers 


an  ancient  cellarer  is  polishing  the  table  furnishings 
of  the  guild-house — an  indication  of  the  luxuriant  life 
led  by  the  artists  of  gay  Antwerp.  His  portraits  of 
children  are  represented  eating  cherries  and  peaches — 
an  indication  that  with  Vos,  as  with  all  Flemings, 
gormandising  plays  a  prominent  part. 

The  family  groups  of  Gonzales  Coques  are  distin- 
guished from  those  of  Vos  by  their  smaller  size  only. 
The  impressive  elegance  is  the  same:  every  one  wears 
the  festal  costume  of  the  court;  the  walls  are  adorned 
with  gobelins  and  pictures;  columns  and  majestically 
falling  curtains  seem  to  belong  to  the  necessary  fur- 
nishings of  every  merchant's  house. 

The  change  experienced  by  landscape  painting  under 
the  influence  of  Rubens  is  shown  by  a  comparison  of 
the  works  which  originated  before  and  after  his  activity. 
Lucas  van  Valckenborch,  Joos  de  Momper,  Jan 
Brueghel,  Hendrik  van  Balen,  Roelant  Savery,  Sebas- 
tian Vrancx,  David  Vinckboons,and  Alexander  Keirinx, 
although  they  survive  into  the  seventeenth  century, 
have  more  in  common  with  Patinir  than  with  Rubens. 
Yet  they  were  innovators.  Patinir  and  Bias  had  not 
attempted  to  render  distant  views:  their  backgrounds 
did  not  recede,  but  were  painted  higher  than  the  fore- 
ground. Accustomed  to  microscopic  vision,  they  did 
not  observe  that  in  the  distance  the  outlines  fade  and 
colours  change.  At  a  distance  of  miles  the  branches 
and  leaves  of  their  trees  retain  the  same  incisive  forms 
and  the  same  bright  colour  as  objects  of  the  foreground. 


Contemporaries  of  IRubens  557 


Important  progress  was  made  by  Gillis  van  Coninxloo, 
He  was  the  first  of  Flemish  landscape  painters  to  realise 
the  effect  of  air  and  light  upon  the  appearance  of  things, 
and  sought  to  express  the  fading  outlines  and  the  soft- 
ened colours  in  the  distance.  In  his  foregrounds  every- 
thing glitters  in  sharp  brown,  green,  or  blue;  in  a  second 
plane  the  foliage  is  not  drawn  leaf  for  leaf  but  tufty; 
the  dark  green  changes  to  a  lighter  bluish-green,  and 
the  colour  of  the  tree-trunks  from  brown  into  greenish. 
Farther  in  the  distance  the  colours  become  even 
lighter  and  fainter.  Proud  of  his  discovery  of  the  three 
planes,  Coninxloo  did  not  tone  down  his  colours  grad- 
ually but  distinguished  them  as  if  brown,  green,  and 
grey  curtains  divided  nature  into  separate  planes. 
The  same  opinion  was  maintained  by  those  who  fol- 
lowed him.  Instead  of  their  pictures  becoming  more 
uniform,  the  gaudiness  constantly  increased.  A  grey 
background  with  light  blue  perspective  and  dark  grey 
hills;  in  sharp  contrast  a  foreground  of  bright  green 
and  in  the  midst  of  this  highly  coloured  nature  little 
figures  in  gleaming  garments — such  is  the  sole  content 
of  their  paintings.  With  jubilant  pleasure  they  com- 
mingled bright  plants  and  bright  costumes,  gaily- 
plumaged  parrots  and  Olympian  gods,  ruins,  cliffs,  and 
waterfalls,  in  bright  bouquets  of  red,  green,  and  blue. 
Every  picture  resembles  a  palette  upon  which  the  most 
conspicuous  colours  are  whimsically  commingled. 

In  this  preference  for  beautiful,  succulent,  and 
voluptuous  colours  they  are  genuine  Flemish  masters, 


558 


ZTbe  Hrt  of  iflanbers 


except  that  the  richness  of  detail,  the  clear  and  diminu- 
tive character  of  their  works  are  no  longer  in  harmony 
with  the  taste  of  a  later  period.  "I  confess  that  I, 
in  consequence  of  a  natural  gift,  am  more  adapted  to 
paint  very  large  pictures  than  small  curiosities."  These 
words  of  Rubens  are  characteristic  for  the  works  of  the 
following  artists. 

A  single  one,  Jan  Silberechts,  would  not  be  recognised 
as  a  Fleming.  For  his  landscapes  are  neither  rhythmic 
nor  do  they  shimmer  in  moist  brilliancy.  In  a  picture 
at  Munich  he  depicts  a  dairy-maid  and  a  little  girl 
sleeping  by  the  roadside;  pewter  milk  vessels  are  in 
front  of  them,  and  a  few  sheep  are  grazing  by  the  road- 
side. The  entire  picture  is  composed  of  white,  blue, 
light  green,  and  grey.  His  Peasant's  House  at  Brussels 
and  Canal  at  Hanover  are  likewise  extracts  from  nature 
with  a  directness  and  truth  approaching  the  plein  air 
painting  of  the  present  day.  As  Silberechts  was  one 
of  the  first  landscape  painters  to  discover  that  sunlight 
envelopes  things  not  in  a  golden  but  in  a  silvery  tone, 
he  has  in  his  modest,  cool  grey  pictures  created  works 
of  a  very  modern  delicacy. 

All  the  others  are  broad,  dashing  painters,  who  en- 
deavour to  obtain  pompous  and  festive  effects.  They 
mix  rich  colours  and  cover  yards  of  canvas  with  trees, 
rivers,  hills,  and  valleys.  Rubens's  flashily  gleaming 
and  noisily  dramatic  style  of  figure  painting  is  de- 
terminative for  them  also.  Two  hills  on  either  side  of  a 
sandy  road,  along  which  two  riders  in  red  doublets  ap- 


Contemporaries  of  IRubens  559 


proach;  in  the  distance  blue  hills  under  a  deep  brown 
sky — such  is  the  landscape  of  Lodewyck  de  Vadder. 
Jacques  d'  Artois  found  in  a  park  near  Brussels  impos- 
ing, pretentious  sceneries ;  and  Lucas  van  Uden  painted 
ponds  full  of  moss  and  luxuriant  meadows  upon  which 
fat  cattle  reposed.  The  two  Huysmans  painted  Italian 
landscapes  in  warm,  glowing  colours,  and  Jan  Peeters, 
the  marine  painter,  likewise  followed  the  programme 
of  Rubens  by  painting  the  sea  in  moments  of  dra- 
matic disturbance. 

Animal  and  still-life  painting  is  represented  by  Frans 
Snyders,  Jan  Fyt  Paul  de  Vos,  Pieter  and  Adriaen 
van  Utrecht.  Like  Rubens  they  paint  animal  pieces 
in  which  lions,  tigers,  stags,  and  wolves  struggle  in  wild 
snorting  passion.  In  their  still-life  they  heap  up  dead 
game,  fruit,  fish,  lobsters  and  oysters,  pheasants  and 
turkeys  into  mighty  decorative  pieces.  As  in  the 
pictures  of  animals  Flemish  pleasure  in  action  and 
passion  is  expressed,  so  in  the  representation  of  such 
succulent  morsels,  their  love  of  pleasure  appears.  Like 
true  epicureans  they  delight  in  the  appearance  of 
edibles,  and  their  mouths  water  when  in  their  pictures 
they  heap  up  breakfast  delicacies.  Even  the  flowers 
which  entwine  the  voluptuous  Baroque  vases  of  Daniel 
Seghers  seem  to  smother  in  their  overflowing  fulness 
of  life. 

The  entire  Flemish  art  resembles  a  full-blooded  body 
distended  by  powerful  nourishment.  All  depict  a 
creation  which  is  healthy  to  the  point  of  bursting  and 


56o  Ube  Hrt  ot  jf landers 


which  foams  over  in  comfortable  corpulency.  Rich 
garlands  of  flowers  and  gleaming  fabrics,  nude  human 
bodies  and  wild  animals,  saints,  geniuses,  and  bac- 
chantes are  boldly  wound  into  gay  and  sensual  bou- 
quets. Van  Dyck,  the  Benjamin  of  the  school  of 
Rubens,  was  the  first  to  tread  a  different  path. 

iririr.  mn  mc\{ 

After  the  Spaniards  had  painted  the  Immacu- 
late Conception  and  Rubens  had  celebrated  sensual 
joy,  the  next  stage  had  to  be  painting  of  the  sad- 
ness which,  according  to  the  proverb,  follows  sens- 
ual joy.  The  flaming,  quivering  passion  of  Rubens 
was  followed  by  the  elegiac  sadness  of  van  Dyck. 

Moon  and  sun — such  is  the  position  of  the  two  in 
Flemish  art:  Rubens  the  radiant,  gleaming,  all  fructi- 
fying orb;  van  Dyck  the  planet  which,  softly  gleaming 
but  not  fructifying,  pursues  its  quiet  path.  Beside 
the  wild  dramatist  Rubens,  he  seems  a  singer  of  the 
world's  woe;  beside  the  powerful,  fruitful  master  an 
over-refmed,  weary  roue.  A  soft  touch  of  tender  ener- 
vated sensuality  characterises  both  his  being  and  his 
art.  If  Rubens  is  the  king,  van  Dyck  is  the  knave  of 
hearts  in  Flemish  art. 

He  was  descended  from  a  family  which  belonged 
neither  to  the  aristocracy  nor  to  the  people.  His 
father,  a  dainty,  spruce  little  gentleman,  was  a  dealer 
in  silks,  who  waited  upon  his  distinguished  customers 
with  a  very  winning  smile.  His  mother,  a  tender,  pale 


561 


woman,  was  celebrated  for  her  artistic  embroideries 
and  is  said,  just  before  Antonis  was  born,  to  have 
embroidered  the  story  of  Susanna  and  the  elders. 
This  notice  of  his  youthful  surroundings  is  not  unim- 
portant; for  before  his  pictures  one  thinks  of  the  dull 
gleam  of  silken  fabrics.    It  is  easy  to  imagine  how 
fond  the  lad  was  of  passing  his  time  in  the  shop,  with 
what  beaming  eyes  he  looked  up  when  a  perfumed 
lady  swept  in,  and  how  daintily  he  blushed  when  an- 
other nodded  to  him  with  friendly  smile— and  we  may 
be  sure  that  they  all  nodded.    Refmed,  pale,  of  girlish 
delicacy,  with  blond  locks  and  great  dark  eyes,  with 
glance  now  ecstatic,  now  melancholy— he  was  the  type 
that  the  ladies  love.    They  all  knew  him,  and  he  re- 
ceived many  a  tender  glance  when,  clad  like  a  prince, 
with  white  feathers  on  his  hat,  he  sauntered  through 
the  streets  of  Antwerp.    He  had  a  right  at  a  later 
period  to  depict  himself  as  Rinaldo  conquering  the 
sorceress  Armida  by  his  beauty;  the  right  to  paint 
himself  as  Paris,  hesitating  as  to  which  of  the  three 
goddesses  he  should  award  the  apple  of  beauty.  The 
choice  was  not  an  easy  one  for  him  at  whose  feet  they 
all  lay. 

Even  in  the  atelier  of  Rubens  he  took  an  especial 
position:  not  indeed  that  of  Achilles  among  the 
daughters  of  Lycomedes  (as  might  be  imagined  from 
this  theme  of  one  of  his  earlier  pictures),  but  a  maiden 
lost  among  wild  boys.  He  preferred  gallant  chats 
with  Helene  to  association  with  these  crude  daubers. 


562  Hrt  of  jFlant)ers 


At  the  fetes  which  Rubens  gave,  he  was  admired  as  an 
infant  prodigy  when,  with  his  sweet  voice,  he  sang 
ItaUan  songs  to  the  accompaniment  of  the  'cello. 
Later  at  Rome  the  contrast  with  his  Flemish  associates 
became  even  sharper.  The  raw  fellows  sat  in  their 
tavern  in  the  Piazza  di  Spagna  and  got  drunk;  but 
though  all  of  his  countrymen  came,  van  Dyck  remained 
away.  He  preferred  the  more  refmed  and  elegant  life 
of  aristocratic  circles.  There  was  no  festival  to  which 
he  was  not  invited;  no  carnival  in  which  he  did  not 
charm  the  ladies.  He  never  went  out  without  a  follow- 
ing of  servants,  or  forgot  to  wear  his  golden  chains  and 
new  gloves.  No  wonder  then  that  he  was  known  "as 
il  pittore  cavalleresco,  the  cavalier  painter,  among  these 
Flemish  bears. 

Painters  who  do  not  harmonise  with  other  painters 
are  more  comfortable  in  cities  where  no  artists  reside. 
The  cavalier  therefore  left  Rome  for  Genoa,  where 
there  were  no  Flemings  to  laugh  at  him,  and  no  Italian 
painters  to  mock  him ;  but  women,  beautiful  women,  and 
cavaliers,  weary  young  marquises.  An  air  of  withered 
decadence  hovered  over  the  city,  which  had  once  been 
so  mighty,  and  with  song  and  pleasure  awaited  its  end. 
It  was  just  because  they  saw  the  collapse  coming  that 
they  sipped  so  eagerly  the  cup  of  life,  with  feverish, 
hasty  draughts;  and  van  Dyck  stood  upon  the  soil 
where  he  belonged. 

He  found  a  similar  stage  of  activity  when  at  the  close 
of  his  life  he  migrated  from  Flanders  to  England.  Here 


563 


also  was  the  sultry  air  preceding  the  storm,  the  soft, 
sensual  atmosphere  which  lies  over  the  earth  before  a 
hurricane  descends.  The  old  "  merry  England"  was 
in  its  last  throes.  A  young  king  who  loved  art  and 
women,  a  beautiful  queen  and  delicate  royal  children; 
and  in  the  background  a  scaffold  and  the  dark  gloomy 
figure  of  Cromwell,  the  man  of  the  people.  His  studio 
was  the  meeting-place  of  the  distinguished  world.  But 
although  hardly  thirty  years  old,  he  is  no  longer  the 
bold  coxcomb,  the  fastidious  Paris  of  former  days;  for 
the  *'god  of  time  clips  the  wings  of  Cupid."  He 
painted  this  subject  in  that  picture  of  the  Marlborough 
collection  which  sounds  like  a  melancholy  elegy  upon 
earthly  mutability,  upon  his  own  fate.  He  therefore 
awards  the  apple  and  fmds  a  compensation  for  his  lost 
youth  in  his  new  aristocratic  splendour.  For  Mary 
Ruthven,  his  wife,  is  the  granddaughter  of  an  earl, 
and  the  son  of  the  Antwerp  silk-mercer  is  now  a 
knight  and  belongs  to  court  circles.  True,  the  fire 
burns  but  feebly,  the  power  of  love  is  gone.  Life  has 
lost  its  sunshine  for  him,  the  favourite  of  women,  and 
at  the  age  of  forty-two  he  closes  his  eyes. 

His  portraits  of  himself  are  a  supplement  to  the 
course  of  his  life.  They  occur  in  nearly  all  of  the 
galleries,  and  beside  those  of  other  Flemings  they 
create  the  impression  that  a  man  of  a  different  race  had 
lost  his  way  among  these  crude,  healthy  people.  Pale 
and  tender,  as  if  his  pleasures  extended  far  into  the 
night,  is  the  colour  of  his  face;  his  lips  tell  of  many 


564  XTbe  Hrt  of  jflan^ers 


kisses;  white  and  aristocratic  is  the  hand  with  the  rosy 
well  kept  nails,  and  his  hair  is  dishevelled  as  if  the  hands 
of  women  had  passed  through  it.  Van  Dyck  knew 
that  he  was  handsome;  he  knew  the  charm  exercised 
by  a  sentimental  singer,  when  by  way  of  a  change  he 
assumed  the  attitude  of  one  weary  of  the  world.  He 
coquettes  even  with  his  decline. 

His  art  has  a  corresponding  effect.  Van  Dyck  has  in- 
deed painted  pictures,  like  the  Crown  of  Thorns  and  the 
Two  Johns  of  the  Berlin  Gallery,  which  seem  works  of 
Rubens:  except  that  the  gigantic,  herculean  impression 
which  he  endeavours  to  attain  seems  rather  affectation 
than  actual  power.  As  soon  as  he  had  progressed  suffi- 
ciently to  dispense  with  the  forms  and  qualities  of 
Rubens,  he  pursued  his  own  paths,  substituting  delicacy 
for  power,  and  attuning  his  picture  to  a  minor  instead 
of  a  major  key.  With  Rubens  we  hear  the  clear  fan- 
fares of  a  gleaming,  joyful  red;  with  van  Dyck  the  soft 
tones  of  the  violoncello,  harmonious  and  subdued;  a 
red  that  is  never  scarlet,  but  a  deep  carmine,  and  which 
seems  softened  by  the  funeral  veil.  With  Rubens  there 
are  two  motives :  flesh  and  strife ;  with  van  Dyck  delicate 
bodies  and  gentle  suffering.  No  man  complains  loudly, 
for  a  noise  is  plebeian;  no  one  makes  violent  gestures, 
for  only  elegant  poses  are  allowed  in  the  salon.  He 
never  paints  peasants,  wild  kirmesses,  broad  laughter, 
or  shouting;  for  everything  crude  and  coarse  is  ab- 
horrent to  him.  To  such  an  extent  did  women  dom- 
inate his  life  that  his  pictures  seem  love-letters  to 


VAN  DYCf; 


JAMES  STUART,  DUKE  OP  RICHMOND  AND  LENOX 

Metropolitan  Museum,  N.  Y. 


Dan  Dycft 


565 


beautiful  women  or  recollections  of  love's  happy  hours. 

The  antique  is  distasteful  to  him,  because  Rubens 
transformed  it  into  a  domain  of  rude  bacchic  sensu- 
alism. He  only  painted  a  Danae — ^love  without  brutal 
contact — and  a  Diana  Surprised  by  Endymion;  as  if 
some  indelicate  intruder  had  appeared  at  an  inop- 
portune moment  in  the  handsome  painter's  studio. 

From  the  Old  Testament  he  selected,  like  Rubens, 
the  scene  of  Susanna's  Bath.  In  Rubens's  version  a 
corpulent  woman  sits  before  us — a  blue-eyed,  fair- 
skinned  Fleming;  sparkUng  red  and  gleaming  white 
are  the  prevailing  notes  of  the  colour  scheme.  Van 
Dyck  painted  a  Hthe,  black-haired  ItaUan,  whose 
dark  southern  beauty  gleams  like  gold  from  a  deep 
brown  landscape.  While  with  Rubens  a  gigantic 
athlete  springs  over  the  wall  to  overpower  the  woman; 
in  van  Dyck's  picture  both  gentlemen  are  careful  to 
preserve  good  form.  One  tendeny  strokes  her  arm, 
while  the  other  looks  ardently  into  her  eye  and  vows 
his  love  by  Cupid. 

From  the  New  Testament  and  the  legends  of  the 
saints,  Rubens  painted  scenes  which  gave  him  the 
opportunity  to  display  flesh,  passion,  and  worldly 
splendour.  For  van  Dyck  mystic  marriages  stand  in 
the  foreground;  and  whether  the  subject  is  Rosalia, 
Herman  Joseph,  or  Katherine,  the  theme  is  that 
platonic  love  which,  by  avoiding  everything  crude, 
wins  the  heart  all  the  more  surely.  Or  he  paints 
himself  in  the  Hkeness  of  his  patron  saint,  Anthony,  to 


566  TLbc  Brt  ot  jflanOers 


whom  the  Madonna  appears ;  or  preferably  as  Sebastian 
because  the  negHgee  of  this  saint  is  so  interesting. 
His  pale  body,  bathed  daily  in  essences,  is  covered 
only  by  a  white  cloth.  Beautiful  women,  while  ob- 
serving Sebastian,  gaze  in  reality  upon  van  Dyck  to 
meet  the  warm,  sensuous  glance  which,  even  when 
dying,  he  casts  upon  them.  The  days  of  flirtation 
were  indeed  followed  by  others  of  weariness.  As  Musset 
then  wrote  world-weary  poems,  so  van  Dyck  is  in 
such  moments  very  sorrowful  and  distressed.  He 
paints  Christ,  alone  under  a  gloomy,  nocturnal  sky, 
with  a  quiet  sigh  giving  up  the  ghost.  No  brutal 
executioners  torture  him,  as  in  the  pictures  of  Rubens. 
He  dies  resignedly,  a  martyr  to  love;  and  they  who 
have  slain,  bewail  him.  Again  and  again  he  painted 
the  Bewailing  of  Christ — lovely  women  bending  in 
sorrowful  pain  over  the  body  of  a  beautiful  man.  The 
ancient  and  sacred  subjects  of  the  Christian  religion 
are  for  him  leaves  from  the  diary  of  his  own  life.  Here 
he  is  coquettish,  there  sorrowful;  but  he  always  plays 
only  with  his  own  erotic  and  sentimental  emotions. 

His  portraits  are  like  his  biblical  pictures.  He  was 
the  born  painter  of  the  aristocracy.  It  is  true  that  as 
a  portrait-painter  his  talent  is  limited.  He  is  helpless 
in  the  presence  of  abrupt  and  self-willed  characters. 
Although  it  was  the  time  of  the  Thirty  Years'  War, 
there  is  nothing  military  about  his  men.  They  wear 
no  leather  collars  or  jackboots,  but  black  satin  and 
silk  stockings ;  and  are  at  home  not  upon  the  battle-field 


567 


but  only  upon  smooth  parquetry.  He  was  more 
adapted  to  be  a  painter  of  beautiful  women  than  an 
interpreter  of  rugged  manhood.  To  these  pictures 
he  could  impart  the  entire  tenderness  and  delicacy  of 
his  soul.  Of  exquisite  taste  are  the  black,  mild  white, 
or  mild  blue  fabrics  which  he  chooses  for  their  toilettes ; 
their  movements  are  genteel  and  indifferent.  To  all 
the  heads  he  imparts  a  subtle  charm  by  the  significant 
language  of  the  eye,  by  a  discreet  smile  or  a  dreamy 
melancholy  expression.  With  fme  perception  for  the 
eternal  feminine,  he  understood  how  to  read  the  hearts 
of  women  and  perceived  their  wishes  and  secrets. 
Here  a  touch  of  life's  happine^ss  spoiled,  there  a  soft 
sensuality  or  languid  weariness  plays  about  the  lips. 
He  also  succeeded  admirably  with  the  timid  delicacy  of 
aristocratic  children  and  the  genteel  indifference  of 
young  noblemen,  because  in  such  subjects  he  painted 
his  own  aristocratic  nature. 

Often  it  even  appears  as  if  in  his  effort  to  appear 
distinguished  he  introduced  affected,  dandified  traits 
into  the  aristocratic  world.  At  the  time  of  the  Renais- 
sance, when  the  new  states  were  in  process  of  forma- 
tion, there  were  few  social  differences.  All  were  equal 
who  by  their  own  ability  had  risen  above  the  common 
herd,  whether  they  were  princes,  poets,  painters,  or 
scholars.  Now  the  separation  of  the  classes  had  been 
accomplished,  and  the  nobility  of  the  intellect  was  no 
longer  upon  the  same  plane  as  nobiHty  of  birth.  In 
the  courts  of  Europe  it  was  found  tactless  when  the 


568  Ubc  Hrt  of  3flant)ers 


Regent  Isabella  entrusted  Rubens,  *'a  painter,"  with 
diplomatic  missions.  Van  Dyck  is  proud  to  have 
entered  these  aristocratic  circles.  In  contrast  to 
Titian,  whose  eyelashes  did  not  quiver  when  the 
Emperor  Charles  V.  picked  up  his  brush,  he  considered 
it  a  great  honor  when  King  Charles  I.  dined  at  his  table. 
The  vanity  with  which  he  himself  played  the  grand 
seigneur  he  imparted  to  others.  As  he  himself  co- 
quettes with  his  velvet  cloak,  his  golden  chain,  and 
his  well-kept,  consumptive  hands,  so  must  all  of  his 
noble  sitters  do.  The  self-evident  distinction  of  an 
earlier  day  is  replaced  by  an  intentional  distinction. 

Or  is  this  sharp  variegation  of  the  aristocratic  con- 
nected with  the  fact  that  van  Dyck  painted  at  Genoa 
and  in  England  ?  The  parallel  with  Velasquez,  the 
black  knight  of  mediaeval  Spain,  presents  itself.  The 
princes  whom  he  painted  did  not  need  to  impress 
others  by  fine  poses  and  select  costume.  They  did 
not  know  that  other  than  silken  clothes  existed,  or 
that  any  other  handkerchiefs  excepting  those  of 
Brussels  lace  were  used.  They  did  not  need  to  show 
that  they  were  blue-blooded,  because  they  were  not 
acquainted  with  any  other  world.  Van  Dyck's  sub- 
jects have  already  been  startled  out  of  their  aristocratic 
repose.  Genoa  was  near  its  end,  and  in  England 
threatening  storm-clouds  were  gathering.  When  Hol- 
bein was  there  Henry  VIII.  had  caused  a  "  Dance  of 
Death  "  to  be  performed;  now  the  people  came  to  make 
their  king  dance.    Charles  I.  appreciated  this.  How- 


569 


ever  enterprising  he  appears  upon  van  Dyck's  portrait, 
his  beard  curled  upwards,  one  hand  coquettishly 
propped  upon  the  hip,  the  other  holding  a  walking- 
stick,  and  with  an  indifferent,  mocking  expression  about 
his  mouth,  his  glance  nevertheless  travels  uncertainly 
into  the  distance,  as  if  in  unconscious  foreboding  of  com- 
ing misfortune.  All  fear  that  the  end  of  a  long,  beautiful 
day  is  approaching  and  the  commoner  is  beginning 
to  disturb  their  circles.  Hence  they  are  so  cold  and 
forbiddingly  proud;  therefore  there  plays  about  their 
lips  a  contemptuous  Odi  projanum  vulgus  et  arceo: 
therefore  they  assume  noble  poses  and  show  their  blue 
blood  as  though  it  were  a  holy  symbol.  To  the  wild 
plebeian  hordes  which  are  storming  upon  them  they 
oppose  their  whole  enervated,  aristocratic  refinement, 
and  they  push  back  with  white  blue-veined  hand  the 
fists  that  grasp  for  the  royal  crown.  Fated  to  die, 
they  wish  to  die  in  beauty;  a  Ueu  mourant  sentiment 
pervades  their  existence. 

The  long  and  beautiful  day  of  the  ancient  aristocratic 
world — order  approached  its  end,  and  van  Dyck  wasits 
evening  star.  Wan  and  pale  is  the  colour  of  his  last  pic- 
tures, as  if  soft  moonlight  were  spread  over  them.  In 
Holland  the  sun  of  a  new  day  had  arisen,  the  sun  which 
to-day  illumines  the  world. 


Cbapter  HID 


XTbe  IRise  ot  2)utcb  painting 
IF.  XLbc  $ivst  portraitists 

IN  the  midst  of  the  aristocratic  world  of  the  seven- 
teenth century,  Holland  arises  like  an  island  of 
burgherdom.  What  was  dimly  foreseen  in  Eng- 
land when  van  Dyck  painted  had  already  been  accom- 
plished here.  After  a  long  struggle  Holland  had  become 
a  republic;  and  immediately  after  the  war  a  brilliant 
rise  of  the  Dutch  cities  had  begun.  At  a  time  when 
elsewhere  the  townsmen  were  poor,  enslaved,  and 
hungry,  in  Holland  an  almost  premature  bourgeois 
culture  replaced  the  aristocratic.  Clever  merchants 
moved  to  Amsterdam  and  guided  Dutch  commerce 
into  new  paths.  The  surplus  of  popular  power  sought 
distant  lands.  Who  would  have  thought  in  1 572  that 
a  part  of  the  Spanish  Netherlands  would  become  the 
possessors  of  a  land  like  Java,  would  hold  the  Cape  of 
Good  Hope,  and  dominate  the  Asiatic  trade?  In  the 
seventeenth  century  Holland  had  become  the  first 
commercial  and  sea  power  of  the  world. 

If  formerly  art  could  only  flourish  where  a  splendid 
court,  a  pomp-loving  church,  or  a  refmed  aristocracy 

570 


Zbc  ifirst  portraitists  571 


afforded  it  protection  and  support,  now  in  rich,  repub- 
lican Holland,  for  the  first  time,  the  bourgeoisie,  with 
all  its  good  and  bad  sides,  became  a  power  in  the 
patronage  of  art;  a  change  like  that  experienced  by 
literature  in  the  late  middle  age  when  the  Minnesingers 
were  followed  by  the  Meistersingers.  There  was  no 
call  for  the  decoration  of  palaces,  or  for  ecclesiastical, 
painting,  the  reason  for  whose  existence  had  been 
destroyed  by  Calvinism.  But  the  love  of  home  had 
been  awakened.  Every  family  occupied  its  own  house, 
and  did  homage,  as  wealth  was  not  lacking,  to  the 
principle,  "Adorn  thy  home."  From  an  ecclesiastical, 
royal,  noble  art  painting  became  an  art  for  the  home. 

From  this  change  further  consequences  resulted  for 
the  view  of  colour  as  well  as  for  the  subject-matter  of 
painting.  While  the  gay  and  brightly  coloured  Flemish 
paintings  were  intended  for  roomy,  bright  churches  and 
splendid  palaces,  the  Dutch  were  placed  in  narrow 
half -dark  rooms,  "where  even  the  dear  light  of  heaven 
breaks  gloomily  through  painted  glasses."  In  harmony 
with  their  destination  for  gloomy,  brown-panelled 
rooms,  lighted  by  httle  bullseye  glasses,  is  the  soft, 
rich  light  and  shade  of  the  pictures.  With  the  Flemings 
grandeur,  decorative  movement,  and  conspicuous 
colours;  here  even  in  colour  a  sentimental  and  home- 
like quality.  As  to  the  subjects  of  Dutch  paintings, 
scenes  from  everyday  life  and  the  landscape  were  all 
the  more  opportune  because  the  Hollanders  saw 
reality  transfigured  by  poetic  light.   As  they  had  for 


572       Zbc  IRtse  ot  Dutcb  ipaintina 


long  years  been  compelled  to  battle,  they  gratefully  en- 
joyed the  pleasures  of  life.  Their  own  hearth  was  the 
world  for  them,  indeed  the  very  soil  of  their  home  was 
the  creation  of  the  inhabitants,  who  protected  it  by 
dykes  against  the  ocean  and  had  in  bloody  struggle 
torn  it  from  the  enemy.  These  conquests  were  cele- 
brated in  art.  They  did  not  think  of  transporting 
themselves  into  distant  worlds  of  beauty,  because 
what  they  saw  about  them  seemed  beautiful  enough. 
They  knew  nothing  of  the  myths  and  legends  which 
were  a  recreation  to  the  distinguished  people  of  other 
lands;  but  they  wished  to  see  pictures  of  their  own 
life  and  all  the  luxury  with  which  they  were  able  to 
surround  themselves,  treasuring  art  as  a  glorification 
of  the  happiness  of  home.  One  is  interested  in  cattle, 
another  in  tulips  and  poultry,  a  third  in  the  ships  which 
bring  his  goods  to  port.  One  loves  to  hear  a  jolly  farce, 
another  finds  that  the  view  from  his  window  upon  the 
landscape  is  very  beautiful.  The  subjects  which  dom- 
inate the  bourgeois  art  of  the  present  day  were  first 
depicted  in  this  bourgeois  land  in  the  seventeenth 
century. 

The  movement  began  with  portraiture;  for  it  is 
natural  that  the  rich  burgher  should  begin  his  role  of 
Maecenas  by  perpetuating  his  own  image.  Through 
portraiture  he  finds  the  way  to  art.  He  wishes  a 
counterfeit  of  his  personality,  and  as  photography  has 
not  been  invented,  he  sits  for  his  portrait.  An  in- 
credible number  of  portraits  was  painted  in  the  first 


XTbe  fftrst  portratttsts  573 


quarter  of  the  seventeenth  century.  Every  trade  and 
profession  is  represented  in  the  works  of  the  Amster- 
dam Museum;  the  admiral  and  the  merchant,  the 
pastor  and  the  professor,  the  counsellor  and  the  ship- 
owner. The  portraits  of  women  are  the  pendants  of 
those  of  the  men.  Occasionally  the  entire  family, 
along  with  the  servants,  is  united,  the  elder  daughters 
with  their  husbands,  the  young  children  playing  >vith 
their  toys.  These  works  already  show  that  a  new 
race  of  men  had  come  upon  the  stage.  Rubens  and 
van  Dyck,  in  their  portraiture,  seldom  descended  below 
a  count;  even  when  as  an  exception  a  burgher  was 
presented,  the  picture  is  pervaded  by  a  noble,  courtly 
air.  They  love  the  rhythmic  elegance  of  the  toilette, 
and  fair,  round  gestures;  their  hands  are  white  and 
delicate ;  the  man  is  more  at  home  upon  parquetry,  the 
woman  is  not  a  mother  of  a  family  but  a  lady  of  the 
world.  The  dogs,  indeed,  but  not  the  servants,  are 
counted  among  the  family;  and  the  columnar  archi- 
tecture with  the  curtain  completes  the  impression  of 
pretentious  magnificence. 

A  democratic  atmosphere,  on  the  other  hand,  en- 
velops the  soil  of  Holland.  The  third  estate  appears— 
men  with  raw,  plebeian  spirit,  who  are  proud  enough 
to  wish  to  appear  nothing  higher. 

Ehrt  den  Konig  seine  Wiirde, 
Ehret  sie  der  Hande  Fleiss." 

Everything  is  simple,  unpretentious,  bourgeois,  and 
moral.    The  men  are  angular,  rugged,  and  self-con- 


574       XTbe  IRise  ot  2)utcb  paintina 


scious;  the  women  jovial  and  honest.  They  have 
nothing  of  the  cosmopoHtan  poHsh,  the  social  routine 
of  the  Flemish  noble  ladies,  and  are  not  dazzled  by  the 
splendour  of  an  elegant  life.  They  sit  before  us  dressed 
in  plain  costumes,  their  hair  under  a  thick  cap,  the 
neck  concealed  under  a  stiff  collar.  They  are  accus- 
tomed, basket  on  arm,  to  do  their  own  marketing,  and 
themselves  to  wash  their  blue  aprons  or  stiff  ruffs.  The 
hand,  which  with  the  Flemish  women  is  long,  slender, 
and  aristocratic,  is  one  accustomed  to  labour  and  to 
wield  the  broom.  If  they  endeavour  to  appear  elegant, 
their  toilette  is  pathetically  tasteless.  Here  and  there, 
with  the  taste  of  a  cook  dressed  up  for  Sunday,  they 
display  a  bow,  ruching,  or  ribbon ;  they  hold  a  fan  as  if 
it  were  a  kitchen  utensil.  The  children,  who  are  all 
princes  with  van  Dyck,  are  here  so  awkward  that  they 
will  only  pose  as  models  if  the  painter  gives  them  an 
apple  or  a  bunch  of  grapes. 

These  family  portraits  are  supplemented  by  portrait 
groups  of  the  corporations.  The  palace  of  other  lands 
was  replaced  in  Holland  by  the  guild-house  and  the 
town-hall.  The  rising  power  of  the  guild  fife  is  likewise 
characteristic  for  the  bourgeois  trend  of  the  time.  The 
elite  were  replaced  by  the  men  of  the  hearth  and  the 
rule  of  the  masses  supplanted  the  oligarchy.  At  first 
the  societies  of  marksmen  played  a  similar  role  to  the 
veterans'  societies  of  the  present  day.  Having  during 
the  long  wars  provided  the  fatherland  with  gallant 
defenders,  they  now  rejoiced  in  amusing  war-play. 


XTbe  afirst  portraitists  575 


Every  society  had  its  guild-house  and  exercising 
grounds,  where  once  a  year  a  solemn  shooting  match 
occurred.  The  victor  was  proclaimed  with  the  sound 
of  cannon;  then  there  was  a  banquet  at  which  the 
winner  was  presented  the  prize  offered  by  the  city, 
usually  a  golden  cup.  The  posts  of  captain,  officers, 
and  standard-bearer  were  assumed  by  rich  young  men 
who  delighted  to  wear  uniforms ;  and,  because  they  were 
fond  of  being  painted  in  this  uniform,  such  group 
pictures  formed  an  important  part  of  Dutch  painting. 
Every  member  paid  his  dues  and  was  therefore  per- 
petuated by  a  master's  hand. 

But  there  were  also  guilds  for  more  serious  purposes. 
The  love  of  charity  and  interest  in  the  care  of  the  poor 
and  sick  which  had  been  awakened  during  the  years 
of  war  still  existed  when  these  had  passed.  In  all  cities 
of  the  land  hospitals  for  the  sick  and  asylums  for 
orphans,  old  men,  and  women  were  founded.  It  was 
the  pride  of  the  burgher  to  belong  to  the  governing 
board  of  such  institutions  of  charity,  and  to  be  handed 
down  to  posterity  in  such  a  capacity. 

The  craft  guilds  also  experienced  a  new  prosperity. 
The  guild  of  the  clothiers,  especially,  was  an  important 
industry  which  contributed  much  to  the  prosperity  of 
trade.  Like  the  military  corporations,  these  industrial 
chambers  had  pictures  of  the  masters  of  the  guild 
painted  for  the  guild-house.  The  submission  of  their 
accounts  is  always  the  moment  chosen.  At  a  table 
men  are  seated;  those  who  review  accounts,  control  the 


576         XTbe  IRtse  of  Butcb  IPaintina 


treasury  fund,  and  announce  that,  in  their  conduct  of 
affairs,  everything  is  done  in  accordance  with  the 
regulations. 

Even  the  learned  corporations,  especially  the  phys- 
icians', gave  occupation  to  the  painters.  Precisely  at 
that  period,  in  the  century  of  the  great  war,  surgery 
became  an  important  science.  In  Leyden,  as  in  Delft 
and  Amsterdam,  dissections  were  publicly  conducted 
in  the  great  hall  called  the  theatrum  anatomicum.  The 
nearest  benches  were  intended  for  colleagues  of  the 
professors  and  the  invited  guests,  the  middle  for  the 
students,  and  the  rear  for  the  public.  In  the  middle 
of  the  amphitheatre  was  a  table  with  the  corpse, 
where  the  professor,  surrounded  by  his  assistants,  per- 
formed the  dissection.  And  as  in  Holland  everybody 
had  his  portrait  painted,  portrait  groups  were  also 
donated  for  this  anatomical  lecture-room,  represent- 
ing the  professor  in  the  midst  of  his  assistants  demon- 
strating upon  a  corpse  or  skeleton. 

The  oldest  portraits  of  military  societies  date  as 
early  as  1 530,  and  are  in  the  style  of  the  present  photo- 
graphs of  soldiers  of  the  reserve.  No  artistic  effect, 
but  resemblance  alone  is  the  object  desired.  As  all  paid 
the  same  dues,  each  one  demanded  the  same  considera- 
tion, and  wished  to  be  seen  in  full  face  and  have  both 
hands  in  the  picture.  These  works  are  therefore  no 
portrait  groups  but  juxtaposed  single  portraits.  If  the 
number  of  subjects  is  too  great  for  one  row,  they  are 
arranged  in  several  rows,  one  above  another,  so  that 


Ube  iFirst  portraitists  577 


the  upper  faces  look  through  the  spaces  between  and 
above  the  lower  row.  This  phase  of  portraiture  is 
represented  in  the  Amsterdam  Museum  by  the  works 
of  Dirk  Jacobs,  Cornelis  Teunissen,  and  Dirk  Barents. 
The  following  generation,  the  treasuries  of  whose  so- 
cieties were  in  a  position  to  pay  higher  prices,  was  not 
content  with  such  simple  portraits.  Instead  of  busts 
they  demanded  three-quarter  pieces  or  full-lengths, 
which  necessitated  the  placing  of  figures  in  action  and 
assigning  some  uniform  motive  to  what  had  formerly 
been  a  mere  juxtaposition  of  heads.  This  motive  the 
painters  at  first  found  in  representing  the  archers  march- 
ing forth  and  at  a  later  period  in  portraying  them 
at  a  common  banquet.  The  group  of  1 588  by  Cornelis 
Ketel  represents  the  culmination  of  this  new  develop- 
ment, and  the  seventeenth  century  then  completed 
what  the  sixteenth  had  begun. 

In  1 61 8  CorneHs  van  der  Voort  painted  the  picture 
of  the  regents  of  the  Amsterdam  Hospital  for  Old  Men, 
and  before  this  his  soldiers  with  the  lances — those 
iron,  unbending  men  who  fought  the  Spaniards  at 
Breda.  In  1624  Werner  van  Valckert  painted  his  two 
principal  works,  the  four  male  and  the  four  female 
regents  of  the  Hospital  for  Lepers.  Nicolas  Elias 
Pickenoy,  who  was  softer  and  tamer,  understood  the 
treatment  of  coloured  costumes  in  a  manner  befitting 
the  drawing-room,  and  was  therefore  especially  prized 
as  a  painier  of  female  portraits.  Aert  Pietersen,  the 
son  of  the  still-life  painter  Pieter  Aertsen,  painted, 
37 


578       XTbe  IRise  ot  Butcb  painting 


in  1603,  the  first  group  of  surgeons,  the  Anatomy 
Lesson  of  Dr.  Sebastian  Egbert.  To  this  same  Dr. 
Egbert  is  dedicated  the  earhest  work  of  Thomas  de 
Keyser,  who  afterwards  practised  forty-five  years  in 
Amsterdam. 

Not  only  in  the  capital  but  in  all  the  smaller  towns, 
portrait  painters  found  work  in  abundance.  In  The 
Hague  the  rugged  and  powerful  Jan  van  Ravestyn 
painted  old  swashbucklers  with  cuirass  and  sash,  who 
had  been  in  the  field  and  preserved  a  warlike  taste  all 
their  lives.  In  Delft  the  court  painter  of  the  house  of 
Orange,  Michel  Mierevelt,  developed  an  extensive 
activity,  in  a  somewhat  sober  and  manufactured  style, 
and  dashed  off  not  only  the  Stadtholders,  William  I., 
Maurice,  and  Frederick  Henry,  but  also  the  scholars  of 
the  land.  In  Dordrecht  resided  the  ancestor  of  the 
Cuyp  family,  Jacob  Gerrits  Cuyp,  a  very  busy  painter, 
while  in  Utrecht  Paulus  Moreelse  and  Willem  van 
Honhorst  executed  numerous  commissions. 

More  than  all  of  these  cities,  Haarlem  had  suffered  in 
the  war  with  Spain.  After  having  fallen  into  possession 
of  the  foe  in  a  desolate  condition,  and  having  been 
later  destroyed  by  conflagration,  it  now  became  the 
most  joyous  of  all  Dutch  cities.  The  painter  of  the 
Haarlemites  therefore,  is  particularly  the  painter  of 
young  Holland.  One  thinks  not  only  of  rugged 
burgherdom  and  democratic  self-confidence  but  of 
assertive  bravery  and  lively  animation,  when  the 
name  of  Frans  Hals  is  mentioned. 


ifrans  Ibals 


579 


IFIT*  3fran6lbals 

Think  of  a  people  enslaved  and  oppressed  for 
decades;  compelled  to  witness  the  restoration  of 
Catholic  monasteries  in  its  land  and  the  proclama- 
tion of  laws  of  mediaeval  severity;  a  people  which 
had,  in  a  bloody  struggle,  thrown  off  the  foreign  yoke 
and  achieved  political  and  religious  freedom.  A  bold 
and  fiery  generation  grew  up,  conceived  during  the 
thunder  of  cannons  in  the  battle  and  reaching  manhood 
at  the  time  of  victory  and  fame.  For  such  a  genera- 
tion the  air  they  breathe  has  something  exhilarating. 
They  fear  neither  hell  nor  devil,  but  move  about  with 
clashing  sabres  and  challenging  glances.  Their  life  is 
passed  in  revel  and  riot,  in  knightly  war-play,  at  the 
banquet  amid  the  clink  of  glasses.  Bayonets  flash  and 
the  rattle  of  the  drum  sounds.  Should  the  Spaniards 
ever  again  come,  these  men,  like  their  fathers,  will  be 
found  at  their  posts. 

Frans  Hals  was  a  true  son  of  this  sword-clattering, 
mad,  rollicking  Holland.  Even  in  advanced  years  he 
felt  like  a  Corpssfudent,  joyous  and  light-hearted, 
youthful  and  bold;  an  anti-philistine  who  would 
have  considered  the  word  bourgeois  as  an  insult.^  One 
can  imagine  him  in  a  state  of  exhilaration  strolling 
through  the  streets  at  night,  breaking  windows  and 

iFor  the  benefit  of  the  general  reader  it  may  be  advisable  to  state 
that  the  Cor^s  is  the  oldest  of  the  varieties  of  student  organisations 
wearing  colours  as  insignia  and  devoted,  among  other  purposes,  to  con- 
viviality and  fighting  duels;  and  that  the  term  philistine  is  applied  by 
them  to  all  who  are  not  students. — Ed. 


58o 


XTbe  IRise  of  Butcb  patnttno 


beating  the  night-watchman  or  in  Heu  of  the  night- 
watchman,  his  own  wife.  When  this  poor  creature 
went  to  a  better  land,  without  ever  keeping  the  year 
of  mourning,  he  married  Lisbeth  Reyniers,  with  whom 
he  is  seated  in  the  celebrated  picture  of  the  Louvre. 
Both  are  no  longer  young  and  have  experienced  many 
storms.  Hals  may  have  cracked  many  a  joke  during 
his  work,  and  often  called  his  wedded  wife  "old  girl." 
Jovial  and  indifferent  to  fate,  as  if  he  himself  perceived 
the  comic  side  of  his  married  life,  he  looks  down  from 
his  portrait.  Yet  he  never  deserted  good  Lisbeth;  for 
she  was  no  spoiler  of  fun,  never  gave  curtain  lectures, 
but  could  herself  raise  the  wine-glass.  It  almost  seems 
as  if  the  refrain  of  the  old  drinking-song, 

"Altes  Herz,  was  gliihest  du  so," 
were  inscribed,  half  ironically,  under  the  picture. 

This  portrait  of  himself  acquaints  one  with  the  re- 
maining works  of  Frans  Hals.  As  he  himself  remained 
all  his  life  a  gay  student,  so  he  made  his  Haarlemites 
gay  students,  casting  such  bold  glances  and  moving 
about  as  briskly  as  if  they  were  always  on  the  point 
of  jostling  some  philistine.  Their  life  is  passed  between 
the  Mensur  and  the  Kommers. 

"O  selig,  O  selig,  ein  Fuchs  noch  zu  sein!"i 

His  three  earliest  works  in  the  museum  of  Haarlem 

iThe  Mensur  is  the  rather  harmless  duel  practised  by  German  stu- 
dents; the  Kommers  a  convivial  celebration  consisting  principally  in 
singing  and  drinking.  A  Fuchs  is  a  student  during  the  first  year  of 
his  membership  of  a  Corps  or  other  society;  his  characteristics  are 
supposed  to  resemble  those  of  the  American  college  freshman. — Ed, 


ifrans  Ibals 


are  archers'  banquets,  and  it  is  no  accident  that  Hals, 
the  joyful  genius  of  the  Kneipe,  invented  this  type  of 
picture.  A  fresh  love  of  pleasure  and  rugged  health 
laughs  from  all  the  faces.  These  are  the  men  who 
themselves  had  taken  part  in  the  defence  of  Haarlem, 
and  now  merrily  enjoyed  what  they  had  accomplished ; 
men  who  had  smelt  powder,  had  seen  blood  flow  and 
passed  the  night  on  the  field  of  battle.  In  a  later  work, 
the  Archers  of  the  Guild  of  St.  Adriaen  are  united  under 
the  trees  of  their  garden,  armed  cap-a-pie  and  prepared 
for  the  march.  In  the  picture  of  1639  representing  the 
Departure  of  the  Guild  of  St.  George,  he  uses  the  motive 
of  the  staircase  to  bring  new  life  into  the  accustomed 
arrangement  into  rows.  The  colours  are  bold,  fresh, 
and  joyous:  red  sashes  and  bright  blue  banners,  the  rich 
still-life  of  fruits  and  lobsters,  and  the  silvery  light 
streaming  through  the  treetops. 

In  his  smaller  portraits  also,  boldness,  joy  in  life,  and 
self-confident  alacrity  flash  from  every  eye.  If  he 
paints  children  they  do  not  weep  or  look  serious,  neither 
are  they  bashful  and  awkward.  However  small  they 
are,  they  do  not  fear  their  elders,  but  look  boldly  and 
laughingly  into  their  eyes.  Even  the  nurse  is  full  of  a 
consciousness  that  her  baby  will  become  a  fleld  marshal 
or  a  Maid  of  Orleans.  And  these  types  of  men !  Here 
a  little  hunchback  feels  as  brave  as  if  he  had  just  slain 
the  giant  Goliath;  there  a  clergyman  swings  his  book 
in  a  warlike  manner,  as  if  he  wished  to  bring  it  down 
upon  the  heads  of  the  Catholics;  there  again,  a  young 


s82       Zbc  IRise  of  Dutcb  paintina 

man  with  his  knees  crossed  cracks  his  whip  as  if  in 
challenge.  In  another  picture  of  the  Liechtenstein 
Collection  (Vienna)  there  stands  a  young  man,  van  Huy- 
thuysen  by  name,  with  his  hat  on  one  side,  one  hand 
upon  his  hip,  the  other  playing  with  his  sword  hilt — as 
indescribably  swaggering  as  if  he  had  just  declared  war 
upon  the  united  states  of  Europe.  This  is  one  of  those 
portraits  which  reflect  the  spirit  of  an  age.  No  scholar 
but  a  painter,  Frans  Hals,  is  the  historian  of  Dutch 
liberty.  If  one  thinks  of  the  portraits  of  Velasquez, 
one  feels  what  different  worlds  these  two  artists  repre- 
sent. There  the  refined  distinction  of  the  ancient  Span- 
ish nobility;  people  who  seem  quite  apathetic,  because 
others  do  not  exist  for  them ;  here  a  defiant  assertion  of 
the  commoner,  the  almost  ludicrous  vanity  of  the 
Dutch,  who  considered  themselves  the  first  people, 
the  acme  of  the  civilised  world;  who,  confident  of  the 
morrow  and  proud  of  themselves,  their  intelligence  and 
their  ability,  their  fencing  and  their  uniforms,  paced 
about  with  clanking  swords.  Velasquez's  people  are 
distinguished  gentlemen  who  can  indeed  wield  the 
sword,  but  never  have  the  opportunity  of  drawing  it, 
because  every  one  else  is  for  them  a  pariah;  those  of 
Frans  Hals  cannot  rest  until  they  have  scars  of  which 
to  boast.  In  van  Huythuysen  he  has  painted  the 
soul  of  the  epoch  and  the  soul  of  himself,  the  splendid 
Corps  student  of  art. 

What  his  portraits  do  not  say  is  related  in  his  genre 
pieces.  In  them  everything  is  united  in  which  the 


FRANS  HALS 


PORTRAIT  OF  AN  UNKNOWN  MAN 

Metropolitan  Museum,  N.  Y. 


ifrans  1bal5 


583 


artist  himself  took  pleasure— laughing,  singing,  music 
and  drinking,  exuberant  sturdiness  and  bold  abandon. 
The  honeymoon  of  young  Holland  was  celebrated  in 
drinking  and  sensuality.  Here  a  coarse  bearded  fellow, 
his  cap  awry  upon  his  bald  head,  jestingly  holds  a  girl 
in  his  lap,  there  the  grinning  Junker  Ramp  holds  a 
goblet.  There  follow  those  delightful  improvisations 
of  light  and  characteristic  portrait  painting:  the  Young 
Musician  in  Amsterdam;  the  Boys  making  Music  in 
Cassel ;  the  Drinking  and  Flute  Playing  Boys  at  Schwe- 
rin.  Then  figures  of  the  tavern  and  the  streets :  joyous 
topers  and  laughing  girls,  half-drunken  fiddlers  and 
old  sailors'  wives;  Hille  Bobbe,  the  witch  of  Haarlem, 
with  the  owl  upon  her  shoulder  and  the  pewter  mug 
in  her  hand.^ 

In  works  of  this  sort  Hals  has  achieved  his  high- 
est in  the  representation  of  instantaneous  expression. 
A  sudden  laugh  distorting  the  face,  a  keen  glance,  a 
bold  gesture — everything  he  seizes  in  its  flight.  All 
gradations  of  laughter,  from  a  pleasant  smile  to  a  hoarse 
roar,  are  depicted  with  the  directness  of  the  instantane- 
ous photograph.  This  telegraphic  style  is  his  lan- 
guage, and  in  order  to  catch  the  flitting  expression, 
he  has  created  a  technique  in  which  every  line  is  pulsat- 
ing life.  He  wields  the  brush  as  if  it  were  a  sabre, 
and  treats  the  canvas  as  if  he  stood  opposite  to  the 
enemy  upon  whom  he  was  showering  blows.  Two 

1  Professor  Muther  refers  to  the  example  in  Berlin,  of  which  there  is 
a  replica,  with  slight  variations,  in  the  Metropolitan  Museum  of  New 
York.— Ed. 


584        TLbc  IRtse  of  Dutcb  iPaintin^ 


hundred  years  before  Manet  he  founded  Impressionism. 

It  is  true  that  he  lived  eighty  years  and  more — too 
long;  for  while  he  remained  the  same  the  world  changed. 
The  joyful  time  of  riot  and  revelry  gradually  passed 
away.  Holland  had  attained  its  desires,  the  soldiers 
of  freedom  of  a  former  day,  in  their  gallant,  knightly 
costume,  had  become  old  and  thoughtful.  Bowed 
under  the  burden  of  years  they  still  held  meetings,  but 
now  for  quiet  counsel,  no  longer  for  a  joyful  banquet 
or  a  bold  march.  Even  their  clothing  was  changed; 
they  no  longer  wore  red  sashes  and  glittering  armour 
but  solemn  dark  clothes;  they  were  no  longer  marks- 
men and  joyous  feasters,  but  dignified  patricians  of 
rigid  Calvinistic  spirit. 

These  changed  conditions  are  reflected  in  Hals's  later 
works.  In  place  of  the  joyful  gaudiness  which  he 
formerly  loved,  an  almost  monochrome  tone  prevails 
in  his  portrait  (1641)  of  the  Regents  of  the  Hospital  of 
St.  Eliiabeth.  A  dark  green  table  cover,  a  grey  wall 
upon  which  a  white  spot  resembles  a  map  in  black 
bevelled  frame,  and  in  front  old  people  in  dark  costume 
— such  is  the  content  of  the  picture,  which,  in  its 
serious  characterisation  and  refmed  beauty  of  tone, 
reveals  the  boon  companion  of  former  days  as  a  quiet, 
clarified  master. 

But  it  does  not  appear  that  his  art  still  corresponded 
with  the  taste  of  the  day.  His  free,  student-like  nature 
was  no  longer  suited  to  the  more  settled  views.  He 
was  warned  in  court  to    abstain  from  drunkenness 


jf  tans  Ibals 


585 


and  similar  excesses."  Commissions  were  no  longer 
forthcoming,  and  the  sheriff's  officer  appeared  in  his 
house.  In  1661  he  was  declared  exempt  from  taxes 
on  the  ground  that  he  had  no  possessions.  Later,  when 
he  had  passed  his  eightieth  year,  the  city  fathers  roused 
themselves  and  decided  to  grant  him  a  life  pension  of 
two  hundred  gulden. 

In  this  noteworthy  year,  1664,  when  free  Holland 
provided  so  royally  for  one  of  its  greatest  artists,  Hals's 
last  works  originated.  He  who  began  as  a  gallant 
cavalier  with  soldiers'  banquets  now  painted  the 
regents,  both  male  and  female,  of  the  hospital  for  old 
men  of  which  he  had  himself  become  an  inmate.  And 
how  they  appear!  The  consciousness  of  carrying  a 
hussar's  sabre  is  no  longer  his.  Contemptuously  he 
dashed  the  mighty  spots  of  colour  upon  the  canvas. 
Anxiously  and  timidly  the  old  maids  and  the  worthy 
gentlemen  gaze  upon  us,  as  if  provoked  and  angry  over 
the  dirty,  slashed  garments  and  the  brown  linen  in 
which  the  aged  master  has  vested  them.  Barthol- 
omaeus  van  der  Heist  knew  how  to  make  velvet  and 
satin  gleam  and  cloaks  flutter,  and  painted  the  gentle- 
men elegant  and  the  ladies  beautiful;  Abraham  van  den 
Tempel,  who  imparted  to  them  the  aristocratic  dignity 
of  the  Flemings,  clothed  them  in  black  silk  and  white 
satin  and  let  them  wander  upon  park  terraces  amidst 
imposing  colonnades ;  such  artists  had  already  become 
the  ideals  of  those  bourgeois  who  wished  to  play  the 
role  of  barons. 


586        Ubc  IRise  of  H)utcb  painttuG 


In  1666  the  aged  master  Hals  filled  a  pauper's  grave. 
Nine  years  later  his  name  is  again  mentioned:  when 
jolly  Lisbeth,  his  wife,  received  a  weekly  allowance  of 
fourteen  sous  in  addition  to  her  pauper's  pension.  The 
life  of  Frans  Hals  thus  reflects  the  history  of  Dutch 
painting;  beginning  proudly  and  boldly  but  ending 
in  sadness.  A  single  artist  whose  life  lasted  eighty 
years  saw  how  democracy  was  succeeded  by  com- 
fortable Philistinism,  and  philistinism  by  an  r.pish 
imitation  of  courtly  manners. 

•fflTIT.  Zbc  Contemporaries  of  Ibals 

Hals  is  the  centre  about  which  the  art  of  the  first 
half  of  the  seventeenth  century  is  grouped.  As 
he  painted  portraits  and  genre  pictures,  and  in 
his  portrait-groups  also  depicted  still-life,  his  influence 
extended  in  all  directions,  and  he  became  the  model 
of  portrait,  genre,  and  still-life  painters. 

Jan  Verspronck  and  Jan  de  Bray  painted  military 
groups  which,  in  their  fine  grey  tone  and  vivid  anima- 
tion, resemble  those  of  their  master.  Such  subjects 
continued  to  be  popular  among  the  successors  of  Hals; 
for  the  Dutch  burgher,  seated  in  his  comfortable  room, 
was  proud  of  his  services  as  a  soldier,  of  the  marches 
and  dangers  which  he  had  experienced  and  loved  to 
relate  to  his  children.  In  the  gazettes  he  read  of  the 
things  which  were  occurring  in  unhappy  Germany; 
and  straggling  marauders  still  wandered  through 
Holland  itself.    After  having  his  portrait  painted,  the 


Contemporaries  of  Ibals  587 


burgher  extended  his  patronage  of  art  to  recollections 
of  his  soldier  days.  Bivouac  scenes,  quarterings,  and 
plunderings  were  the  first  subjects  selected;  then  the 
occupation  of  gallant  officers  out  of  service,  consoling 
themselves  with  charming  girls  over  wine,  with  gam- 
bling and  love  for  the  hardships  of  military  life.  Dirk 
Hals,  Frans's  younger  brother,  Pietcr  Codde,  Jan  Olis, 
Jacob  Duck,  and  Antony  Palamedes  are  representative 
of  the  group.  ''The  old  soldier  sits  at  the  window, 
empties  his  glass,  and  blesses  peace  and  peaceful 
times." 

Others  progress  from  pictures  of  soldiers  to  scenes 
from  popular  life.  The  "  third  estate,"  which  had  now 
become  dominant,  pointed  proudly  to  the  fact  that 
beneath  it  there  was  yet  a  "fourth  estate."  As  in 
courtly  France  the  plebeian  manners  of  Monsieur 
Dimanche  and  Monsieur  Jourdain  furnished  the  aris- 
tocrats with  cause  for  laughter,  so  in  Holland  the 
burgher  laughed  over  the  uncouth  conduct  of  the 
common  people.  Tavern  life  and  tobacco  play  a 
special  role  in  these  pictures ;  for  the  pipe  was  as  modern 
in  1600  as  the  bicycle  was  with  us  twenty  years  ago, 
and  beer  taverns  were  first  customary  in  Holland.  In 
the  paintings  of  Jan  Molenaer  one  sees  such  figures  of 
drinking  comrades  and  singing  couples,  pretty,  fem- 
inine, pleasing  pictures,  in  which  the  soft  light  of  the 
candle  is  daintily  interpreted. 

Although  a  Fleming  by  birth,  the  adventurous 
Adriaen  Brouwer  likewise  belongs  to  this  group.  After 


588        XTbe  IRise  of  Butcb  pafntino 


his  flight  from  his  father's  house  he  took  service  with 
the  Dutch.  With  them  he  defended  Breda  against 
the  Spaniards,  and  he  appeared  with  a  Dutch  troupe 
of  players  at  Amsterdam  and  Haarlem.  Even  in  Span- 
ish Antwerp  he  acted  so  much  the  Hollander  that  he 
was  thrown  into  prison.  His  paintings  also,  in  their 
homely  coarseness  and  simplicity,  belong  more  to  the 
Dutch  than  to  Flemish  art.  In  the  smoke  of  obscure 
taverns,  over  beer  and  strong  drink,  he  wandered  about 
among  drunken  plebeians.  Boors  throwing  dice  and 
playing  cards,  quarrelling,  stabbing  each  other,  and  the 
next  morning  having  their  thick  heads  bandaged  by 
the  village  barber — such  is  the  content  of  his  pictures. 
It  is  certainly  a  one-sided,  almost  disgusting  theme;  but 
his  colouristic  charm  is  so  great  that  one  quite  forgets 
the  content  and  only  admires  the  brilliancy  of  execution. 
Brouwer  possessed  a  native  genius  for  painting.  There 
is  nothing  reflective,  nothing  laboured  in  his  work; 
each  stroke  of  the  brush  suits  just  where  he  placed  it. 
It  is  related  that  when  he  could  not  pay  for  a  drinking- 
bout,  he  would  rapidly  design  a  sketch  upon  paper  in 
the  tavern,  and  send  it  to  the  art  dealer.  Most  of  his 
pictures  seem  to  have  originated  this  way;  for  he  never 
considers  the  technical  fmish.  Each  one  of  them 
preserves  the  outlines  of  a  sketch,  and  for  this  reason 
his  works  are  a  delight  for  every  artistic  eye. 

In  landscape  painting  there  were  at  the  beginning  of 
the  seventeenth  century  two  opposing  tendencies. 
Cornelis  Poelenburg,  Dirk  van  der  Lisse,  Bartholomaeus 


Contemporaries  of  Ibals  589 


Breenberg,  and  Moses  van  Uytenbrock  relate  to  Dutch 
burghers  how  things  looked  in  fair  Italy;  painting  small 
landscapes  in  the  environs  of  Rome  and  Tivoli,  peopled 
with  shepherds  and  satyrs,  with  goddesses  and  bathing 
nymphs.  Everything  is  executed  with  calligraphic 
elegance,  and  with  a  pleasing  though  superficial  charm. 
But  while  in  these  Httle  pictures  that  ''arcadian" 
landscape  painting  whose  chief  representative  had  been 
Albani  passed  away,  others  began  to  paint  the  scenes  of 
their  native  soil,  which  they  well  knew  how  to  treas- 
ure, because  it  had  been  bought  with  blood.  Italian 
scenes  were  replaced  by  Dutch  environs :  a  flat  country 
with  high  sand-dunes  and  distant  perspective.  The 
nymphs  and  goddesses  were  changed  into  peasants, 
fishermen,  drivers,  wood-cutters,  hunters,  and  sailors. 
The  earlier  of  these  landscape  painters— Hans  Bol, 
Hendrik  Averkamp,  Adriaen  van  de  Venne,  and  Esaias 
van  de  Velde — could  not  dispense  with  broad  narrative; 
for  something  interesting  had  to  happen  in  the  pictures, 
if  they  were  to  receive  the  applause  of  the  bourgeoisie. 
Popular  sports  upon  the  ice— at  that  time  recently 
introduced,— sleigh-riding,  markets,  and  hunts  are  the 
usual  subjects  of  these  works.  Then  the  artist  began  to 
dispense  more  and  more  with  figures  and  emancipate 
himself  from  the  demands  of  the  purchasers.  The  way 
across  the  fields  to  the  woods,  the  slope  of  a  sand-dune; 
a  village  amidst  trees  and  shrubbery  animated  by  peas- 
ants and  waggons,  by  a  troop  of  riders  or  marauders ; 
the  flat  country  with  church  towers  and  windmills— 


590        TLbc  IRise  of  Dutcb  palntina 

such  subjects  recur  in  the  works  of  Pieter  de  Molyn  and 
Hercules  Seghers.  Jan  Porcellis  took  up  his  quarters 
on  the  coast  and  observed  the  sea  in  its  grey  colour 
and  monotonous  beat  of  waves  with  quiet,  true  Dutch 
objectivity.  Thus  was  the  soil  prepared  for  the  great 
landscape  and  marine  painters  of  the  following  epoch. 

The  walls  of  dining  rooms  were  decorated  with  still- 
life  paintings:  these  too  a  glorification  of  the  luxury 
which  the  opulent  burgher  now  enjoyed  with  thankful 
pleasure.  Formerly,  when  Holland  was  a  province,  he 
was  satisfied  with  herring,  beer,  and  bread;  now  he  can 
afford  Rhine  wine  and  oysters. 

Among  these  painters,  Pieter  Claesz,  Heda,  and 
Frans  Hals  the  younger  depicted  silver  goblets,  dishes, 
and  gleaming  plates  with  ham,  oysters,  and  peaches 
in  very  refined  harmonies.  Their  works  reflect  the 
joyful  satisfaction  of  a  burgher  in  his  possession  of  a 
good  wine-cellar  and  fine  table-utensils. 

Only  the  still-life  pictures  painted  in  the  old  uni- 
versity city  of  Leyden  have  a  different  character.  In 
such  a  worldly  age,  so  devoted  to  intense  enjoyment, 
these  masters  alone  thought  of  the  change  of  earthly 
things.  The  pleasure  of  the  table  was  not  painted  by 
Pieter  Potter,  the  father  of  the  celebrated  Paul;  but 
skulls,  prayer-books,  hour-glasses,  crucifixes,  fragile 
glasses  and  clay  pipes,  and  slowly  dying  candles — such 
things  as  formerly  St.  Jerome  had  gazed  upon  when, 
brooding  over  the  changefulness  of  earthly  things,  he 
arranged  them  in  groups  with  the  inscription  Vanitas 


Contemporaries  of  Ibals  591 


beneath.  The  pictures  remind  us  that  the  Dutch  of 
the  seventeenth  century  were  not  only  merchants 
but  also  theologians. 

They  had  suffered  for  their  belief  in  the  days  when 
Alba  raged  in  the  Netherlands;  and  they  are  fond  of 
being  represented  in  their  portraits  with  the  Bible  in 
their  hands.  Proud  of  the  political  freedom  which 
they  had  won,  they  are  even  prouder  of  the  Reformed 
church,  which  in  1 572  arose  from  fire  and  blood.  Their 
state  was  founded  upon  the  model  of  the  republic  of 
Geneva.  The  special  city  of  the  theologians  was 
Leyden,  where  the  most  prominent  scholars  of  the  land 
assembled  and  did  for  Holland  what  a  century  earHer 
Luther  and  Melanchthon  had  done  for  Germany.  The 
States'  Bible,  completed  nine  years  later,  became  the 
palladium  of  the  new  church,  and  was  soon  spread 
abroad  in  a  million  copies.  I n  this  book,  which  founded 
the  modern  Dutch  language,  the  people  found  a  new 
inspiration  in  the  charm  of  holy  legends,  and  became 
absorbed  in  the  poesy  of  Old  and  New  Testament 
narratives.  The  Old  Testament,  especially,  acquired 
a  significance  which  it  had  never  before  possessed  in 
the  Christian  church;  for  the  Dutch  beHeved  that  a 
similarity  existed  between  the  fate  of  the  people  of 
Israel  and  their  own,  and  regarded  the  prophecies  of 
the  Old  Testament  as  wonderful  promises  for  them- 
selves. They  identified  Palestine  and  the  Babylonish 
captivity  with  Holland  and  the  Spanish  domination. 

From  this  feeling  of  kinship  with  the  Israelites  the 


592 


XTbe  IRise  of  Butcb  painting 


philo-Semitic  sentiment  which  at  that  time  passed  over 
Holland  is  best  explained.  It  was  the  first  place  in 
which  the  Jews  found  a  home.  Even  in  the  beginning 
of  the  seventeenth  century  there  were  at  Amsterdam 
four  hundred  Jewish  families,  most  of  them  from  Por- 
tugal. Soon  afterwards  the  complete  emancipation 
came.  Some  of  the  Jews,  like  Ephraim  Bonus,  became 
prominent  physicians,  while  others  stood  at  the  head 
of  the  great  transmarine  projects. 

Dutch  poetry  also  has  a  biblical  and  Israelitic  trend. 
Not  only  has  Marnix,  the  poet  of  the  wars  of  liberation, 
the  effect  of  the  Psalmist;  Camphuysen's  Edifying 
Songs  resembles  an  Israelitic  songbook,  Vondel  and 
Daniel  Heinsius  introduced  Old  Testament  dramas  upon 
the  stage.  In  his  musical  setting  of  David's  psalms, 
Huygens  hopes  "only  to  obtain  immortality  if  he  can 
reveal  in  his  own  works  something  of  the  beauty  and 
power  of  the  King  of  Israel."  The  preachers,  in  dis- 
cussing contemporary  events,  refer  to  Old  Testament 
parables  in  the  pulpit.- 

By  this  means  a  new  and  wide  domain  was  opened 
to  art  also.  Although  there  were  no  saints  to  glorify 
and  no  churches  would  endure  altar-pieces,  the  artists 
possessed  the  Bible,  into  which  they  might  penetrate 
with  their  whole  souls.  As  the  Dutch  considered 
themselves  the  representatives  of  the  Israelites,  the 
old  legends  suddenly  appeared  in  a  new  light.  Pieter 
Lastmann  was  not  strong  enough  to  lift  the  treas- 
ure out  of  its  hiding-place;  his  works  are  crude,  dry. 


1Rembran&t 


593 


vulgar,  and  heavy:  but— he  was  the  teacher  of 
Rembrandt. 

IRembranDt 

A  picture  by  Rembrandt  in  the  Dresden  Gallery 
represents  Sampson  putting  Riddles  to  the  Phil- 
istines; and  Rembrandt's  entire  activity,  a  riddle  to 
the  Philistines  of  his  time,  has  remained  puzzling 
until  the  present  day.  He  has  been  called  the  master 
of  light  and  shade;  but  this  is  not  significant, 
since  many  others,  Correggio,  for  example,  attempted 
the  solution  of  the  same  problems.  He  has  been 
praised  as  the  creator  of  the  religious  art  of  the  Ger- 
manic North,  which  is  equally  meaningless,  as  Durer  has 
the  same  right  to  this  fame.  Although  all  the  aids 
of  science  have  been  set  in  motion,  he  can  neither  be 
apprehended  nor  explained.  As  no  other  man  bore  his 
name,  so  the  artist,  too,  is  something  unique,  mocks 
every  historical  analysis,  and  remains  what  he  was,  a 
puzzling,  intangible  Hamlet  nature — Rembrandt.  The 
clearness  and  measure  of  the  Hellenic  spirit  which 
dominated  the  Renaissance  fmds  a  contrast  in  the 
gloom  of  sentiment  in  Rembrandt's  works.  He  has  the 
same  relation  to  the  masters  of  the  Renaissance  as 
Ossian  to  Homer,  and  beside  the  Olympians  he  seems 
a  Nibelung,  a  hero  from  cloudland. 

It  is  perhaps  possible  to  approach  Rembrandt  only 
if  one  resolves  to  interpret  his  pictures  not  as  paintings 
but  as  psychological  documents;  for  this  is  his  most 
38 


594 


Ube  IRtse  cf  Dutcb  IPaintino 


individual  characteristic.  However  important  the  few 
commissions  which  he  received  (Hke  the  Anatomy 
Lesson,  the  Night  Watch,  and  the  Staalmeesters)  they 
did  not  make  him  what  he  was.  He  is  only  Rembrandt 
when  he  holds  aloof  from  the  public,  as  is  the  case  in 
most  of  his  paintings.  He  was  the  first  artist  who,  in 
the  modern  sense,  did  not  execute  commissions,  but 
expressed  his  own  thoughts.  The  emotions  which 
moved  his  innermost  being  were  the  only  things  which 
he  expressed  upon  the  canvas.  He  does  not  seem  to 
think  that  any  one  is  listening  to  him,  but  only  speaks 
with  himself;  he  is  anxious,  not  to  be  understood  by 
others,  but  only  to  express  his  moods  and  feelings.  No 
painter,  but  a  human  being  speaks  to  us.  What  he 
created  and  how  he  created  it  can  only  be  understood 
by  regarding  his  works  as  a  commentary  upon  his  life. 

He  was  born  in  1607  in  the  old  university  city  of 
Leyden,  where  Bogermann  just  at  that  time  began  his 
great  work  of  the  translation  of  the  Bible.  His  father 
was  a  miller,  his  mother  the  daughter  of  a  baker,  and 
he  himself  was  the  fifth  of  six  children.  His  youth 
was  spent  in  a  serious  and  religious  atmosphere.  His 
mother,  in  particular,  must  have  been  an  honest  and 
pious  woman;  in  her  son's  numerous  portraits  she  holds 
in  her  lap  the  Bible,  her  favourite  work.  It  is  pleasing 
to  think  of  the  lad  sitting  at  his  mother's  feet  and 
listening  to  the  old  legends,  or  wandering  about  alone 
in  the  open  field;  for  his  father's  house  was  at  the  end 
of  the  city  just  where  the  two  arms  of  the  Rhine 


REMBRANDT 


PORTRAIT  OF  SASKIA 

Dresden  Gallerv 


IRembran^t 


595 


unite,  and  even  farther  out  stood  the  famous  windmill. 
He  probably  wandered  for  hours  along  the  Rhine;  saw 
the  ships  with  their  coloured  sails,  the  sand-dunes  in 
their  melancholy  brown,  the  fresh  green  pastures  where 
in  philosophic  calm  the  cattle  reposed ;  gazed  upon  the 
grey  sea  with  its  boundless  horizon  and  upon  the  heav- 
ens with  the  ever-changing  passage  of  the  clouds.  A 
foreboding  of  the  infinity  of  the  universe  was  even  then 
revealed  to  him. 

At  first  he  was  uncertain  as  to  his  profession,  and  was 
enrolled  as  a  student  in  the  university;  then  he  studied 
with  Swanenburch,  and  later  with  Lastmann  at  Am- 
sterdam. But  after  only  six  months  he  returned 
to  his  father's  house  and  began  anew  with  painting. 
His  earliest  pictures  are  attractive  only  in  so  far  as  they 
reveal  the  early  technical  progress  of  a  great  master. 
He  carefully  posed  his  model,  about  whom  he  then 
arranged  into  a  complete  still-life  the  contents  of  his 
atelier:  pigskin  folios,  damascened  knives,  pieces  of  ar- 
mour, and  swords.  In  his  studies  of  light  and  shade 
he  followed  the  problems  which  had  been  popular  in 
Dutch  paintings  since  Honthorst.  In  the  Stuttgart 
and  the  Nuremberg  pictures  representing  an  old 
apostle,  probably  Paul,  in  prison,  the  sunlight  falls 
upon  the  head  of  the  aged  man.  In  his  Money  Changer 
of  the  Berlin  Gallery  he  attempted  a  night  piece :  an  old 
Jewish  banker  examining  a  coin  by  candle  light,  as  in 
the  Money  Changer  of  Quentin  Massys.  The  thought 
of  the  changefulness  of  this  world  and  the  joy  in  it 


596 


tTbe  IRise  of  Dutcb  painting 


is  probably  the  basic  idea  of  this  picture.  If  pro- 
fessional models  could  not  be  obtained  he  made  shift 
with  his  relatives,  whom  also  he  bedecked  with  the 
garments  to  be  found  in  his  atelier.  In  a  picture  at 
Amsterdam,  his  father,  the  worthy  miller,  wears  an 
iron  armour  and  a  cap  with  a  high  feather,  and  has 
turned  his  moustache  martially  upwards.  It  was  the 
time  when  all  Holland  stood  under  the  spell  of  the 
warrior's  profession:  such  is  the  best  explanation  for 
this  preference  for  military  bearing. 

At  the  same  time  he  familiarised  himself  with  the 
technique  of  etching.  Just  at  that  time,  during  the 
great  war,  beggars  from  all  Europe  wandered  over 
the  roads  of  Holland.  Rembrandt  drew  them  as  he 
saw  them ;  hunchbacks,  lame,  blind,  and  drunkards.  He 
was  especially  fond  of  drawing  himself  in  the  most  differ- 
ent costume  and  with  ever-varied  expression.  Here  he 
is  thoughtful,  there  he  rolls  his  eyes;  here  he  starts  back 
in  terror,  there  smiles  broadly,  and  there  again  his  lips 
are  contracted  in  pain.  It  seems  as  if  he  were  seeking 
his  own  personality,  which  was  a  riddle  to  himself. 
But  no  less  remarkable  than  the  difference  in  his  own 
portraits  is  his  versatility  as  an  artist. 

His  activity  at  Leyden  closed  in  1631,  with  a  Holy 
Family  and  a  Presentation  in  the  Temple.  His  first 
attempt  at  life-size  figures  is  the  Munich  picture  from 
sacred  history,  depicted  in  the  manner  of  Honthorst, 
as  occurring  in  a  Dutch  home.  Carpenter's  tools 
hang  upon  the  wall,  and  both  Joseph  and  Mary  wear 


1Rembraut>t 


597 


the  workaday  clothes  of  1630.  In  a  painting  at  The 
Hague,  a  great,  wide  church  opens  to  view;  it  would 
seem  that,  after  having  painted  people  in  narrow  cells, 
his  father's  house  had  become  too  small,  and  the  uni- 
verse was  revealed  to  his  sight.  This  picture  is  at  the 
same  time  the  first  instance  of  the  struggle  of  light 
and  shade,  as  if  in  foreboding  that  his  life  also  would 
be  shaped  into  a  similar  struggle.  In  his  picture  of 
himself  in  1631  he  stands  bold  as  a  conqueror,  his  hand 
braced  upon  his  side;  and,  although  a  book-plate,  his 
etching  of  the  Ship  (Bartsch  iii^),  may  signify  the 
reckoning  between  past  and  future.  One  sees  the  head 
of  Jesus,  a  nude  woman  forms  the  mast.  So  he,  en- 
circled by  enticing  phantoms,  sailed  into  the  sea  of  life. 

When  he  came  to  Amsterdam  woman  was  at  first 
the  centre  of  all  his  thoughts.  With  the  joy  of  a 
student  coming  from  the  constraint  of  the  paternal 
roof  into  a  strange  university  city,  he  yielded  to  the  new 
impressions.  A  whole  series  of  feminine  studies  arose, 
partly  sheets  of  such  coarse  sensuality  that  they  are 
usually  preserved  as  "secret"  in  the  cabinets  of 
engravings.  But  soon  studies  of  different  character 
arose,  like  Le  lit  franfais,  expressing  a  distaste  for  the 
sexual.  Rembrandt's  life  was  a  constant  struggle 
between  these  two  natures;  the  desire  of  the  sensual 
man  to  plunge  into  the  world,  and  the  disgust  of  the 
dreamer  who  did  not  find  there  what  he  sought. 

1  This  reference  is  to  the  number  of  the  etchings  in  Adam  Bartsch's 
catalogue  of  the  master's  engravings:  Catalogue  raisonne  des  ceuvres 
de  Rembrandt  (Vienna,  1797). — Ed. 


598 


TLbc  IRise  ot  Dutcb  paintina 


He  was  otherwise  occupied  in  fulfilling,  in  a  serious 
and  objective  manner,  the  commissions  for  portraits 
which  he  received.  If  he  had  formerly  clothed  his 
relatives  in  armour,  helmets,  and  strange  fabrics,  he 
now  confines  himself  strictly  to  contemporary  Dutch 
costume.  As  de  Keyser  had  done  before  him,  he  de- 
picted it  in  its  monotonous  seriousness,  its  dark 
colours,  and  its  symmetrical  cut.  Only  in  the  introduc- 
tion of  action  into  the  portraits,  does  he  occasionally  de- 
part from  the  traditional,  as  in  the  portrait  of  the  ship- 
builder receiving  a  letter  from  his  wife.  By  this  innova- 
tion alone  his  first  portrait  group,  the  Anatomy  Lesson 
of  Dr.  Tulp,  is  distinguished  from  earlier  works.  Even 
Mierevelt  and  de  Keyser  had  in  their  pictures  of  sur- 
geons not  thought  of  unifying  the  scene,  but  had  sub- 
mitted to  the  wish  of  the  sitters  in  placing  the  chief 
emphasis  upon  individual  resemblance.  No  one  looks 
at  the  professor  or  the  corpse,  but  all  are  occupied  with 
themselves  or  the  observer.  For  Rembrandt  the  in- 
dividual is  only  a  part  of  the  work  of  art.  All  take 
part  in  the  event,  of  which  the  strongly  lighted  corpse 
forms  the  centre:  Tulp  demonstrates,  and  the  other 
surgeons  attentively  follow  his  lecture. 

His  preference  for  gay  and  fantastic  costume  could 
only  be  gratified  in  his  portraits  of  himself.  In  one  he 
wears  a  storm-hood  adorned  with  a  feather  or  in  another 
a  black  velvet  cap  and  a  moustache  trained  boldly 
upwards,  in  a  third  a  velvet  mantle  with  armour  and 
a  golden  chain.    When  Durer  painted  his  Madrid 


IRembranbt 


599 


portrait  with  the  gay  coat  and  feathered  cap  he 
was  Hke  Rembrandt  also  in  1632,  a  suitor.  In  a  por- 
trait of  the  dispersed  Haro  collection  there  appears 
for  the  first  time  a  youthful  female  head  with  fme 
deHcate  complexion,  blue  eyes,  and  light  blond  hair; 
Saskia  van  Uylenburgh  makes  her  appearance  in 
Rembrandt's  art.  Her  cousin,  the  art  dealer  Hen- 
drik  van  Uylenburgh,  had  ordered  a  portrait  of  his 
cousin  from  Rembrandt.  They  saw  and  loved.  After 
the  completion  of  the  portrait  she  continued  to  visit 
his  studio,  and  the  next  portraits  at  Stockholm  and  the 
Liechtenstein  Gallery  are  no  longer  commissions.  The 
sober  Dutch  costume  is  replaced  by  splendid,  fantastic 
clothing.  In  the  former  she  wears  the  red,  gold-em- 
broidered velvet  mantle  which  Rembrandt  had  brought 
from  Leyden;  in  another  he  painted  her  as  her  chaper- 
one  was  arranging  her  long  golden  hair.  In  the  bust 
portrait  of  the  Dresden  Gallery  she  laughs  from  under 
a  red  velvet  hat;  in  that  of  Cassel  she  shows  the 
fine  lines  of  her  profile;  in  the  St.  Petersburg  picture 
she  is  costumed  as  a  Jewish  bride  adorned  with  pearls 
and  flowers  and  holding  a  shepherd's  staff  in  her  hand. 

In  fact,  all  the  pictures  of  these  years  are  connected 
with  Rembrandt's  betrothal.  The  sudden,  seemingly 
illogical  appearance  of  quite  different  subjects  is  only 
to  be  explained  by  the  fact  that  all  of  Rembrandt's 
works  symbolise  personal  moods.  It  was  so  strange 
that  he,  the  son  of  the  miller  of  Leyden,  should  have 
won  this  refined  daughter  of  a  patrician,  almost  against 


6oo        XTbc  IRise  of  Dutcb  painting 

the  will  of  her  relatives ;  he  therefore  paints  himself  as  a 
prince  of  the  nether  world  abducting  Proserpina.  It 
was  so  strange  that  this  dainty  little  doll  loved  him, 
the  awkward,  coarse-grained  giant;  the  figure  of 
Samson  therefore  arises  in  his  mind.  When  Saskia's 
guardian  was  opposed  to  the  engagement,  Rembrandt 
recalled  the  biblical  scene  in  which  Samson  wishes  to 
visit  his  wife  and  fmds  the  house  locked.  "  I  verily 
thought  that  thou  hadst  utterly  hated  her;  therefore 
I  gave  her  to  thy  companion,"  the  old  man  calls 
down,  while  Rembrandt  as  Samson  threatens  with  his 
clenched  fist.  When  at  last  in  June,  1634,  the  wedding 
was  celebrated,  it  gave  occasion  for  the  picture  Sam- 
son s  Wedding:  Saskia,  dainty  and  serene,  sitting  like 
a  princess  in  the  circle  of  her  relatives;  he  himself 
appearing  as  a  crude  plebeian,  whose  strange  jokes 
frighten  more  than  they  amuse  the  distinguished 
company. 

After  he  had  so  long  followed  public  taste,  it  now 
amused  him  to  shock  the  bourgeoisie;  he  felt  himself  at 
odds  with  the  whole  world  when  he  painted  Samson 
Destroying  the  Temple  of  the  Philistines.  The  early  years 
of  his  marriage  were  spent  in  joy  and  revelry.  Sur- 
rounded by  calculating  business  men  who  kept  a  tight 
grasp  on  their  money  bags,  he  assumed  the  role  of  an 
artist  scattering  money  with  a  free  hand;  surrounded 
by  small  townsmen  most  proper  in  demeanour,  he 
revealed  himself  as  the  bold  lansquenet,  frightening 
them  by  his  cavalier  manners.    He  brought  together  all 


1Rembran&t 


60 1 


manner  of  oriental  arms,  ancient  fabrics,  and  gleaming 
jewelry;  and  his  house  became  one  of  the  sights  of 
Amsterdam.  Like  the  princess  of  a  fable,  Saskia, 
decked  with  gold  and  diamonds,  strutted  about,  so  that 
her  relatives  thoughtfully  shook  their  heads.  In  a 
picture  in  Buckingham  Palace  he  paints  her  examin- 
ing gleaming  earrings  before  the  mirror,  while  he  places 
a  collar  about  her  neck.  In  the  picture  of  the  Dresden 
Gallery  he  sits  as  a  cavalier  at  table,  a  sword  at  his  side 
and  a  velvet  cap  with  curled  ostrich  feather  upon  his 
head.  Like  a  giant  playing  with  a  doll,  he  holds  dainty 
Saskia  upon  his  lap,  and  smilingly  raises  his  glass  of 
wine.  This  is  no  artless  pleasure,  but  Samson  throwing 
down  the  gauntlet  to  the  Philistines;  a  giant  stretching 
his  mighty  limbs  in  preparation  for  a  struggle  with  all 
existing  views. 

At  the  close  of  his  life  he  once  painted  a  picture  of 
himself  grinning  at  an  antique  bust.  He  probably  felt 
a  similar  feeling  in  painting  the  AhducUon  of  Ganymede, 
that  jolly  farce  which  shocked  the  educated  Hollanders 
as  much  as  Bocklin's  Bath  of  Susanna  shocked  cultured 
Germans.  At  that  time  Rembrandt  experienced  his 
artistic  "years  of  indiscretion."  One  need  not  assume 
that  he  wished  to  imitate  Rubens.  The  first  years  after 
his  marriage  were  the  times  when  he  let  himself  loose 
as  a  man  and  as  an  artist ;  for  thus  may  be  best  explained 
the  coarse  affectation  of  force  and  the  wild  impetuosity 
of  his  works  during  this  period.  The  cycle  of  the  Pas- 
sion of  Christ  which  he  began  in  1 633  for  the  Stadt holder 


6o2 


Zlbe  IRise  of  Dutcb  paintino 


Frederick  Henry — a  commission,  which  cannot  there- 
fore be  considered  a  psychological  document — is  the 
principal  example  of  this  phase  of  his  style.  Arms 
gesticulate,  faces  are  contorted,  and  the  costumes  are 
puffed  in  Baroque  rhythm.  Even  as  a  colourist  he 
speaks  fortissimo:  he  could  not  depict  the  splendour 
of  the  sky  blinding  enough  or  the  raging  of  the  elements 
wild  enough. 

Gradually  he  became  more  serene,  more  serious. 
The  world  which  he  wished  to  shock  became  indifferent 
to  him.  Even  his  marriage  had  brought  gloom  as  well 
as  sunshine.  In  1635  when  Saskia  became  a  mother, 
he  drew  the  jubilant,  light-flooded  etching  of  the 
Annunciation  to  the  Shepherds;  now,  when  his  first  child 
died,  he  commenced  the  picture  of  Abraham  Offering 
Isaac.  His  home,  in  the  Breestraat  in  the  midst  of 
the  Jewish  quarter,  became  his  world.  The  fantas- 
tic Orient,  the  great  and  ancient  culture  which  the 
Jews  had  brought  over  from  the  Moorish  middle  ages 
into  prosaic  Holland,  attracted  him.  The  artistic  fig- 
ures of  the  Ghetto  moved  about  under  his  window: 
grey-bearded  men  with  high  turbans,  veiled  women 
in  gleaming  fabrics.  With  many  of  them,  as  with 
Ephraim  Bonus  and  the  Rabbi  Manasseh  ben  Israel,  he 
was  on  friendly  terms.  The  son  of  youthful  Holland, 
which  as  yet  had  no  traditions  or  artificial  forms  of 
life,  felt  himself  attracted  by  these  bearers  of  a  culture 
many  thousands  of  years  old.  He  stood  isolated  among 
his  countrymen,  like  a  foreigner  whose  language  they 


1Rembran&t 


603 


did  not  understand ;  an  orator  who  preached  to  ears  as 
deaf  as  those  which  heard  Christ  on  the  Mount ;  a  seer 
among  the  bhnd,  like  Tobias  whose  eyes  were  opened  by 
the  mercy  of  heaven.  Among  the  people  of  the  Ghetto 
he  found  appreciation  for  his  lonely  art.  His  house  also 
was  a  piece  of  the  Orient  on  occidental  soil.  Smyrna 
carpets  and  Arabian  curtains,  burnooses  and  caftans, 
fragments  of  architecture  with  polychromatic  Moorish 
columns  filled  his  studio.  By  means  of  portieres  and 
gleaming  glass  windows  he  created  gloomy  corners, 
through  which  a  dreamy  light  vibrated  in  mysterious 
harmonies.  As  his  aim  had  formerly  been  bravura, 
passionate  emotion,  large  size,  and  harsh  colour,  his 
eye  now  fmds  repose  in  the  mild  gleam  of  velvet,  the 
warm  splendour  of  silk,  and  the  sparkling  shimmer 
of  gold  and  precious  stones.  Of  tropical  and  luxuriant 
landscapes,  of  costumes  and  people  he  built  a  fairy 
architecture  of  exotic  splendour;  in  the  midst  of  a 
prosaic  world  he  created  a  poetic  one  of  his  own.  A 
romanticist,  he  dreamt  himself  far  away  from  the 
grey  of  every-day  life  in  a  distant  and  enchanted 
world. 

The  beauty  of  the  female  body  was  also  revealed 
to  him  in  its  gleaming  splendour.  If  at  the  beginning 
only  coarse  models  had  been  at  his  disposal,  he  could 
now  glorify  the  beautiful  body  of  Saskia.  Stretched 
out  gracefully  and  voluptuously  upon  a  white  couch, 
she  is  called  Danae  in  the  dainty  nude  of  the  Hermitage 
In  the  picture  of  The  Hague  Museum  he  shows  her  as 


6o4        TLbc  IRise  of  Dutcb  paintina 

Susanna  The  light  illumines  the  little  face  with  pale 
splendour,  caresses  the  shoulders,  and  plays  upon  the 
body  in  white,  golden  reflection.  As  little  as  in  the 
first  instance  Rembrandt  thought  of  the  antique,  did 
he  here  think  of  the  Bible. 

Since  he  had  discovered  this  gleaming  wonder-world 
of  light,  he  felt  no  inclination  to  fulfil  commissions  for 
sober  portraits.  In  the  Dresden  portrait  he  stands  with 
a  guinea-hen  in  his  hand,  and  the  light,  falling  fully 
upon  the  plumage  of  the  feathers,  presents  a  bouquet 
of  grey,  brown,  yellow,  and  red  tones,  in  which  it  shines, 
gleams,  sparkles,  and  glitters.  Henceforth  all  por- 
trait heads  are  for  him  such  studies  of  light  effects,  a 
playground  for  rays  of  light.  The  Lady  of  Buckingham 
Palace  is  encircled  by  soft,  golden  light,  and  her  toilette, 
in  its  select  elegance,  is  one  determined  not  by  the  sitter 
but  by  the  painter  himself.  He  would  hardly  have 
painted  the  portrait  of  the  preacher  Ansloo  if  the 
contrast  between  the  dark  red  tablecloth  with  the  light 
grey  background  and  the  black  clothes  had  not  yielded 
such  refined  colour  harmonies.  His  celebrated  Night 
Watch  of  1642,  representing  the  departure  of  the  stand- 
ard-bearer Frans  Banning-Cock,  is  more  of  a  fairy 
picture  than  a  portrait  group  of  archers.  From  a 
gloomy  courtyard  they  step  out  into  blinding  sunlight. 
How  this  different  light  is  painted,  which  encircles  the 
figures,  here  sunny,  there  gloomy;  with  what  master 
hand  Rembrandt  runs  through  the  entire  range  of  his 
colours,  from  the  lightest  yellow  through  all  shades 


IRembran^t 


605 


of  light  and  dark  red  to  the  gloomiest  black — this  has 
often  been  pointed  out  and  justly  celebrated. 

But  one  can  also  understand  that  the  soldiers 
who  gave  him  the  commissions  to  paint  their  portraits 
for  the  guild-house  were  little  satisfied  with  the  manner 
in  which  he  conceived  their  commissions.  Not  only 
is  the  composition  which  he  arranged,  for  pictorial 
reasons,  contrary  to  military  discipline;  positive,  sober, 
and  clear-headed,  the  Hollanders  were  incapable  of 
appreciating  his  treatment  of  light  and  shade.  Accus- 
tomed to  the  dry  objectivity  of  de  Keyser,  they  missed 
resemblance  in  these  heads  emerging  from  the  gloom. 
No  military  guild  ever  thought  of  applying  to  Rem- 
brandt again;  for  other  artists  were  more  compliant 
with  the  wishes  of  their  patrons.  The  allegory  number- 
ed "Bartsch  no"  perhaps  gives  expression  to  Rem- 
brandt's feeling  over  his  loss  of  popularity.  The 
fashionable  painter  has  fallen;  but  the  artist  Rembrandt 
arises,  and,  free  from  all  fetters,  he  may  now  preach 
the  gospel  of  a  new  art. 

Unfortunately  he  lost  something  far  more  important 
than  the  favour  of  the  public  in  the  year — Saskia.  A 
short  time  before  she  had  presented  him  with  a  boy, 
and  Rembrandt  had  during  this  time  of  hope  painted 
the  Meeting  of  Mary  with  Eli:(abeth  and  the  Sacrifice 
of  Manoah,  in  which  Manoah  and  his  wife  kneel  thank- 
fully before  the  sacrificial  fire  while  the  angel  who  has 
announced  the  birth  of  Samson  rises  in  the  air.  Now 
he  was  alone  in  his  house  in  the  Breestraat,  where 


6o6        XTbe  IRise  of  Dutcb  IPainting 


everything  reminded  him  of  the  years  of  his  happiness; 
alone  with  the  lad,  to  whom  the  sufferer  had  given 
birth  shortly  before  her  death.  In  a  drawing  showing 
himself  nursing  a  little  child  with  a  milk  bottle  he 
ridicules  himself  as  a  widower.  If  even  before  this  his 
relation  to  the  outer  world  had  been  dissolved,  his  art 
now  become  wholly  that  of  a  lonely  man  who  only 
seizes  the  brush  to  express  the  thoughts  of  his  soul. 

Before  this,  Dutch  nature  had  said  nothing  to  him. 
For  the  only  suitable  background  to  the  glittering 
pictures  of  the  Orient  was  that  tropical  splendour 
which  he  painted  in  his  Susanna  at  The  Hague  or  the 
Mafidalen  in  Buckingham  Palace.  Even  the  Storm 
in  the  Brunswick  Museum,  his  first  landscape,  conducts 
us  into  a  land  of  dreams.  Black  clouds  pass  over  the 
sky,  and  a  dazzling  light  falls  upon  the  walls  of  a  city 
and  upon  trees  quivering  in  the  storm;  torrents  rage 
and  jagged  cliifs  tower  aloft.  His  loneliness  after  the 
death  of  Saskia  drove  him  out  into  nature;  into  that 
solitary  Dutch  landscape  where  the  washerwomen 
labour,  and  the  mills  flap  their  wings.  With  a  beating 
heart,  and  perhaps  as  astonished  as  when  formerly  he 
wandered  along  the  banks  of  the  Rhine  at  Leyden, 
he  stood  in  the  presence  of  the  great  Mother  and  learnt 
how  to  feel  her  breath  even  where  it  but  softly  sighs. 
In  his  sketch-book  he  seizes  upon  the  simplest,  poorest 
things:  the  canals  with  their  bridges  and  bordering 
houses  in  his  walks  through  the  streets  of  Amsterdam; 
if  he  wanders  farther,  fallen  huts,  hay-stacks,  and 


TRembrant)t  607 

peasant  houses.  Here  he  is  charmed  by  a  silhouette  of 
trees,  there  by  a  windmill  rising  upon  a  lonely  hill. 
A  bit  of  pasture  or  a  path  losing  itself  in  a  field  is  suffi- 
cient to  attract  him.  His  wanderings  did  not  extend 
far;  the  quiet  environs  of  Amsterdam,  Sloten,  Kronen- 
burg,  and  Zaandam,  were  his  farthest  excursions.  Nor 
did  he  need  to  seek  for  motives  or  majestic  lines;  for 
something  much  finer,  the  poetry  of  the  plain,  had 
been  revealed  to  him.  In  some  of  his  etchings  one 
has  the  feeling  of  wandering  lonely  and  self-absorbed 
over  a  great  plain.  However  small  they  are,  they  seem 
pervaded  by  the  infinity  of  space.  By  these  drawings 
Rembrandt  advanced  beyond  the  centuries  and  became 
the  father  of  "intimate"  landscape  painting.  In  them 
he  is  the  greatest  space  composer  of  all  times;  for  a 
simple  suggestive  line  suffices  to  make  the  eye  measure 
infinity. 

In  his  other  works  the  memory  of  Saskia  at  first 
prevailed.  For  a  long  time  he  lived  with  her  in  spirit, 
and  as  in  the  Berlin  picture  he  painted  her  a  year  after 
her  death,  so  his  other  pictures  are  pages  from  the  book 
of  memory  dedicated  to  his  wife  who  died  so  young.  It 
is  no  accident  that  just  at  that  time  he  etched  the 
Death  of  Mary;  that  just  now,  when  he  himself  had  no 
domestic  happiness,  he  painted  again  and  again  the 
Holy  Family,  or  Mary  with  the  Child  approached  by 
the  shepherds  in  timid  adoration.  With  the  Good 
Samaritan  he  thought  of  the  hours  when  he  himself 
sat  at  Saskia's  deathbed.    The  introduction  of  the 


6o8       Ube  IRise  of  Dutcb  painting 


supernatural  into  the  material  world  occupied  his 
thoughts;  that  dream  life  with  its  forebodings  and 
visions;  eyes  which  open  again  after  they  have  seen 
death;  the  secrets  of  the  realm  of  shadows  which  the 
risen  Lazarus  or  Christ  could  reveal.  He  represents 
Jesus  appearing  as  a  spirit  to  the  disciples  at  Emmaus, 
and  shows  Him  calling  Lazarus  from  the  grave.  But 
Christ  seems  to  him  not  only  a  worker  of  miracles ;  He  is 
also  the  loving  comforter.  Once  he  had  painted  the 
Sermon  on  the  Mount:  about  the  Saviour  a  crowd  busy 
with  its  own  affairs  and  hearing  nothing  of  His  words, 
and  in  the  foreground  a  dog,  symbolising  the  thoughts 
of  the  masses.  Now  all  who  are  troubled  or  heavily 
laden  press  about  the  Blessed  One,  and  He  eases  their 
pain,  comforts  and  teaches  them,  and  points  to  the 
better  world  beyond.  He  is  no  longer  a  demigod,  but 
the  plain  carpenter's  son  of  Nazareth,  who  speaks 
simply  to  the  simple. 

Precisely  because  Rembrandt's  paintings  were  never 
ecclesiastical  commissions  but  the  "outpourings  of  the 
heart,"  he  has  shown,  more  than  all  religious  painters, 
what  a  treasure  of  poetry,  tenderness,  kindness,  and 
love  slumber  in  the  ancient  legends.  The  purpose  of 
Catholic  religious  painting  was  to  create  general  types 
of  Christianity.  God  must  receive  the  faithful  in  His 
house  with  courtly  splendour  and  with  dazzling  adorn- 
ment. This  pompous  and  proselytising  element,  so 
predominant  in  the  work  of  Rubens,  is  as  distant  as 
possible  from  Rembrandt.    Expressing  his  sentiment 


1Rembrant)t 


609 


only,  he  relates  biblical  stories  as  we  imagined  them 
when  as  children  we  sat  at  Christmas-time  by  grand- 
mother's knee.  Instead  of  the  agitation  of  Rubens's 
works,  with  Rembrandt  self-restraint  prevails;  instead 
of  the  oppressive  ecstacy  of  the  Spaniards,  a  soulful 
inwardness,  something  sad  and  suppressed.  Although 
he  uses  no  gestures  and  no  dramatic  actions,  he  never- 
theless expresses  the  most  delicate  emotions  of  the 
soul.  If  Rubens's  art  is  like  a  palace  with  a  showy 
highly  coloured  fagade,  but  without  an  interior  where 
human  suffering  could  fmd  refuge,  so  Rembrandt's 
works  are  a  tresor  des  simples.  To  this  discreet  trend 
of  his  art,  which  speaks  only  in  whispers  and  makes 
faint  suggestions,  his  attitude  towards  colour  corre- 
sponds. In  the  older  works  when  he  was  the  wariike 
Samson,  he  loved  sharp  contrast  of  dark  shadows  and 
harsh  light.  In  the  later  pictures  which  originated  at 
the  time  of  his  brief  and  happy  love,  the  air  also  glitters 
and  gleams  as  if  full  of  gold  dust.  Now  a  melancholy 
greenish  tone  prevails ;  a  soft  evening  light  whose  mild 
rays  daintily  and  softly  quiver  through  the  gloom. 

A  spirit  like  Rembrandt's  was  of  course  too  com- 
plicated to  express  itself  in  a  single  direction  only. 
Many  other  scenes  chosen  from  Bible  and  legend  show 
that  woman  still  influenced  his  thoughts.  He  painted 
Veriumnus  Deluding  Pomona,  Christ  Forgiving  the 
Adulteress,  and  a  new  version  of  Susanna,  in  which 
she  is  no  longer  alone,  but  the  two  old  men  in  the  back- 
ground gaze  with  quivering  desire  upon  the  young 
39 


6io        XTbe  IRtse  of  Dutcb  painting 


woman.  As  in  his  younger  days,  he  again  works  after 
the  feminine  model.  Often  they  are  hideous  women 
and  in  such  cases  Rembrandt  renders  everything  de- 
formed in  the  sense  of  severe  modern  reahsm.  As 
formerly  in  his  Lit  frangais,  it  now  sometirnes  seems 
as  if  he  wished  to  conquer  his  passion  for 
women  by  representing  actuality  in  its  disgusting 
ugliness. 

His  troubled  soul  at  length  found  repose  in  the 
blandishments  of  his  housekeeper  Hendrikje  Stoffels, 
at  that  time  twenty-three  years  of  age.  He  first 
painted  her  in  the  portrait  which  survives  in  the 
Louvre,  bedecked  like  Saskia  with  pearls  and  jewelry. 
In  a  picture  of  the  National  Gallery  (London)  she  sits 
clothed  only  in  a  chemise,  placing  her  foot  in  the  water; 
the  evening  sun  casts  its  rays  upon  the  legs,the  chemise, 
and  the  blond  hair.  In  the  next  picture  the  model 
has  become  his  beloved,  and  is  depicted  as  a  modern 
Bathsheba  receiving  a  letter  from  Rembrandt,  her 
David. 

From  this  time  something  reposeful  pervades  Rem- 
brandt's works.  As  he  was  happy  again  and  enjoyed 
domestic  comfort,  his  melancholy  as  well  as  his  desire 
for  women  had  disappeared.  A  simple  woman,  kind 
and  self-sacrificing,  was  the  comrade  of  his  life;  she 
provided  for  the  household  and  occupied  herself  with 
Titus,  who  had  become  a  fme  lad.  In  the  picture 
of  the  Kann  collection  (Paris)  he  seems  a  little  prince 
of  the  Northland,  a  dreamy  Hamlet.    She  had  also 


1Rembrant)t 


6ii 


brought  into  the  house  her  mother  and  another  relative, 
a  wild  boy  from  the  country. 

These  years  were  the  most  fruitful  in  the  activity 
of  Rembrandt's  life.  After  he  had  himself  again  found 
a  home  he  etched  those  "intimate"  portraits  like  that 
of  Jan  Six,  in  which  the  man  and  the  home,  the  figure 
and  its  surroundings,  are  so  skilfully  interwoven.  He 
was  especially  attracted  by  the  peacefulness  and  quiet 
contemplation  of  the  aged:  that  great  repose  which 
seems  so  serene,  but  in  which  the  mighty  stream  of 
memory  flows.  The  portrait  of  Hendrikje's  vener- 
able mother,  with  its  mild  and  thoughtful  expression, 
rises  before  us.  In  her  he  has  painted  the  clarified, 
passionless  repose  which  gradually  became  the  pre- 
vailing characteristic  of  his  being.  In  the  etching  of 
1650  he  has  represented  himself  in  no  fantastic  costume, 
but  in  an  ordinary  garb,  his  hat  upon  his  head,  stand- 
ing at  the  window  absorbed  in  thought.  Such  is  the 
Rembrandt  to  whom  Hendrikje  gave  a  new  summer 
and  who  awaited  a  beautiful  and  peaceful  autumn. 
He  held  himself  more  and  more  aloof  from  society 
and  seldom  left  his  home:  that  paradise  which  he  had 
created  for  himself,  and  where,  far  from  the  banality 
of  every-day  life,  he  lived  as  a  lonely  aristocrat  of  the 
spirit. 

But  in  the  meanwhile  the  civil  authorities  had  discov- 
ered that  such  a  life  offended  against  the  law.  On  the 
23d  of  July,  1654,  Hendrikje  received  a  summons  to 
appear  before  the  consistory  to  answer  to  the  charge 


6l2 


tTbe  IRtse  of  Dutcb  painttna 


of  leading  an  immoral  life  with  Rembrandt  the 
painter.  Three  times  she  was  summoned  but  failed  to 
appear.  Not  until  the  fourth  warning  did  she  "ac- 
knowledge her  guilt  and  was  severely  punished  there- 
for, warned  to  repent,  and  forbidden  to  partake  of  the 
Table  of  the  Lord."  This  scene  also,  the  accusation 
of  Hendrikje  by  the  neighbours  before  the  authorities, 
was  transformed  in  Rembrandt's  mind  into  a  biblical 
picture:  the  Accusation  of  Joseph  by  Potiphar's  Wije. 
The  Egyptian  woman  is  common  rumour,  bringing  the 
accusation  with  hypocritical  indignation;  Potiphar 
listening  with  severe  judicial  mien,  the  Reformed  con- 
sistory; and  poor  Joseph,  bashful,  blushing  like  a  girl, 
and  casting  down  his  eyes,  is  the  good  Hendrikje. 

This  was  the  prelude  of  the  drama  which  now  followed. 
Rembrandt,  through  whose  hands  thousands  had 
passed,  suddenly  became  penniless  and  loaded  with 
debts.  All  his  earned  and  inherited  fortune  had  gone, 
and  even  the  fortune  of  his  son  Titus,  which  he  managed 
as  a  guardian,  had  disappeared.  He  had  promised 
the  dying  Saskia  to  be  a  good  father  to  Titus,  and  in 
memory  of  this  hour  painted  himself  as  Esau  tenderly 
holding  young  Jacob  in  his  arms.  Now  he  had  forgot- 
ten the  claim  of  his  first-born.  Little  Cornelia,  the 
daughter  of  Hendrikje,  with  her  rosy,  blond,  childish, 
face,  had  brought  new  sunshine  into  the  house.  So  he 
painted  himself  as  Jacob  blessing  Ephraim,  the  younger, 
and  forgetting  Manasseh,  the  elder.  Rembrandt 
brooded  over  his  troubles,  and  this  mood  is  reflected  in 


1Reml)rant)t 


613 


the  picture  of  an  architect  at  Cassel,  in  which  an  old 
man  with  white,  beautifully  lighted  hair  sits  at  his 
table  covered  with  papers,  lost  in  deep  reflection.  He 
endeavoured  to  raise  new  sums  of  money ;  but  the  loans 
which  he  wished  to  obtain  were  refused  him.  He 
himself  was  responsible  for  his  fate,  and  the  public  of 
Amsterdam,  which  had  already  dropped  him,  could 
wash  its  hands  in  innocence.  At  this  juncture  he 
painted  the  picture  of  Pilate  Washing  his  Hands  in 
indifferent  calm. 

In  response  to  the  pressure  of  his  creditors  on  the 
26th  of  July,  1656,  he  was  declared  a  bankrupt.  He 
who  had  such  a  horror  of  all  business  matters  had 
to  negotiate  with  the  bailiffs.  Externally  everything 
seemed  indifferent  to  him.  He  even  had  the  repose  to 
etch  the  portraits  of  the  two  men  appointed  to  conduct 
the  bankrupt  proceedings,  the  porter  of  the  bankruptcy 
court,  Haaring,  and  his  son,  the  auctioneer.  But  to 
the  same  year  also  belongs  the  etching  of  Christ  Ex- 
posed to  the  Multitude.  When  the  public  posters 
on  street  corners  announced  that  the  collection  of 
the  painter  van  Ryn  would  be  sold  at  auction;  when 
tailors  and  glove  makers  appeared  in  the  quiet  house  of 
the  Breestraat  in  order  to  examine  the  exhibition  of 
his  collections,  there  arose  in  Rembrandt's  mind  the 
picture  of  Christ  at  the  Pillory  surrounded  by  a  mock- 
ing, plebeian  throng.  At  the  same  time  he  etched  the 
Stoning  of  St.  Stephen,  the  protomartyr;  with  a  thought 
of  himself  as  one  of  the  many  great  men  whom  the 


6i4 


Ube  lRi5e  of  Dutcb  painting 


ignorant  world  had  since  then  stoned.  Rembrandt, 
who  wished  to  found  a  new  rehgion  in  art,  was,  while  he 
lingered  in  the  realm  of  his  thoughts,  thus  denied  by 
his  people.  So  he  paints  the  Dental  of  Peter  and  Moses 
in  wild  anger  breaking  the  tables  of  the  law. 

A  rich  shoemaker  bought  his  house.  He  himself  led 
a  nomadic  life  until  Hendrikje,  associated  with  Titus, 
began  an  art  shop  in  order  to  support  the  family  by 
the  sale  of  his  etchings.  In  the  Rosengracht,  at  the 
entrance  of  the  Jewish  quarter  where  Rembrandt  had 
formerly  lingered  so  much  in  the  antiquaries'  shops, 
lay  the  little  house  of  which  they  took  possession,  and 
where  his  last  works  were  created.  For  although  he  was 
robbed  of  his  possessions;  although  he  sat  in  a  poor, 
bare  attic  room  and  his  meal  consisted  of  herring,  cheese, 
and  bread,  Rembrandt  struggled  on.  "I  will  not  let 
thee  go  except  thou  bless  me,"  are  the  words  which 
Jacob  spoke  when  he  wrestled  with  the  angel;  and  with 
this  picture  in  the  Berlin  Gallery  the  last  period  of 
Rembrandt's  artistic  activity  begins. 

His  power  is  unbroken,  but  the  sentiment  and  the 
colour  of  the  picture  is  different.  He  no  longer  paints 
the  magic  harmonies  which  flooded  his  house  in  the 
Breestraat,  but  the  cold,  sober  daylight  of  little  attic 
rooms — no  longer  gorgeous  garments,  but  rags.  Every- 
thing is  attuned  to  gloomy  brown  and  blackish-grey 
tones.  His  art  is  that  of  a  poor  man  who  has  himself 
experienced  Solomon's  "All  is  vanity."  In  a  picture  of 
the  Louvre  (1660)  he  stands  before  the  easel  in  an  or- 


1Reml)rant)t 


dinary  brown  coat,  with  a  white  cap  upon  his  head, 
his  face  unshaven,  his  skin  withered,  his  hair  grey,  but 
with  brush  and  palette  in  his  hand  still  painting.  To 
himself  he  must  have  seemed  a  Franciscan  in  his  brown 
woollen  cowl,  and  it  is  therefore  no  accident  that  one 
of  his  last  etchings  is  dedicated  to  St.  Francis,  il 
poverello,  who  also  had  nothing  of  his  own.  With  this 
brown  woollen  cloak  which  he  himself  wore,  he  also 
draped  his  models.  He  drew  it  over  the  mother  of 
Hendrikje,  who  also  has  suffered  much  and  has  become 
even  more  wrinkled,  more  careworn,  and  kills  time 
by  paring  her  nails.  He  draped  with  it  the  old  man 
whom  he  painted  as  St.  Matthew  listening  breathlessly 
to  the  word  of  the  angels,  and  over  the  tired  pilgrim  of 
the  Weber  Gallery.  In  the  former  painting  the  theme 
is  inspiration  which  the  human  soul  receives  from 
heaven;  in  the  latter,  the  fervour  of  the  prayer  which 
comes  from  the  depths  of  the  soul.  But  Christ  es- 
pecially, the  great  sufferer,  the  God  of  the  lonely  and 
suffering,  again  becomes  the  centre  of  thought  to  him 
whom  fate  had  cast  down;  as  in  the  picture  of  the 
dispersed  Demidoff  collection,  the  suffering,  downcast 
man,  with  the  mild,  kindly  eyes,  and  the  Ecce  Homo  in 
Aschaffenburg — that  phantom-like  picture  with  the 
expression  of  a  supernatural  repose. 

One  more  commission,  although  as  a  charity,  was 
assigned  to  him.  A  former  pupil,  the  marine  painter, 
Jan  van  de  Capelle,  who  as  the  possessor  of  a  dye-shop 
was  known  to  the  members  of  the  clothier's  guild,  ob- 


6i6        XTbe  IRise  of  Dutcb  painting 


tained  for  him  the  commission  to  portray  that  august 
body.  Rembrandt,  who  in  1642  had  transformed  a  sober 
group  of  soldiers  into  a  fairy  picture,  fulfilled  this  task 
without  thinking  of  experiments,  just  as  it  had  been 
assigned  him  and  as  earlier  artists  had  done  before. 
But  such  commissions  seem  to  have  been  followed  by 
evil  fortune.  As  in  1642,  after  the  completion  of  the 
Night  Watch,  Saskia  had  died,  so  in  1664,  after  the 
completion  of  De  Stalmeesters  Hendrikje  breathed 
her  last.  As  if  in  foreboding  that  he  would  survive 
quite  alone,  he  had  drawn  as  early  as  1659  the  etching 
Youth  Surprised  by  Death:  a  young  woman  and  a  young 
man,  Hendrikje  and  Titus,  in  whose  way  a  skeleton 
with  an  hour-glass  steps.  Now  that  Hendrikje  was 
dead,  his  own  end  rapidly  approached.  His  last  pic- 
tures show  in  an  awful  manner  the  changes  in  him. 
His  face  is  puffed,  his  cheeks  are  flabby,  and  his  ex- 
pression contorted  by  pain.  The  bandage  about  his 
cap  indicates  chronic  headache,  and  the  eyes, 
dimmed  by  drink,  seem  half  blinded.  Weyermann 
describes  how  he  slept  during  the  day  and  wandered 
about  in  the  taverns  at  night:  and  the  distinguished 
Chevalier  Sandrart  saw  him  wandering  with  ex- 
pressionless eye  among  the  second-hand  stores  of  the 
poorer  quarter. 

His  eyes  will  no  longer  permit  him  to  etch;  but  the 
brush,  or  at  least  the  mahlstock,  he  does  not  relinquish. 
He  applies  colours  with  a  knife,  paints  reliefs.  Thus 
originated  the  Family  Group  of  the  Brunswick  Gallery 


REMBRANDT 


THE  ARTIST  AND  HIS  WIFE 

Dresden  Gallery 


IRembranbt 


617 


(whomever  it  may  represent) ,  and  a  strange  picture  in 
the  Amsterdam  Museum,  in  which  he  the  lonely  man 
thinks  of  the  aged  Boaz,  leading  home  a  youthful  bride. 
His  last  dated  picture  (1668)  is  the  Crucifixion  of  Christ 
in  the  Darmstadt  Gallery.  While  one  soldier  fastens 
the  fetters  upon  the  Redeemer  another  draws  him  up 
by  a  rope.  "It  is  finished!"  He  died  upon  the  8th 
of  October,  1669,  Titus  also  having  preceded  him. 
An  inventory  established  that  excepting  his  artist's 
materials  and  woollen  clothes,  he  left  nothing  behind 
him.  His  life  was  a  tragedy  of  fate,  the  tragedy  of  the 
first  modern  artist,  it  has  been  called. 


Cbapter  It) 


Ubc  iEn&  of  Dutcb  pafnttng 

•ff.  Zbc  (3enre  paintere 

WITHIN  the  bounds  of  Dutch  art,  that  of  Rem- 
brandt stands  isolated.  However  much  his 
pupils  superficially  resemble  him,  his  works 
are  the  revelation  of  a  genius,  theirs  are  merely  good  oil 
paintings.  It  is  related  that  Rembrandt  in  the  begin- 
ning devoted  much  time  to  his  teaching.  Himself  the 
most  individual  of  all  artists,  he  encouraged  individual- 
ity in  others,  and  had  the  atelier  in  which  they  laboured 
partitioned  off,  that  no  one  might  influence  the  others. 
But  while  he  protected  them  from  each  other,  he  could 
not  rescue  them  from  the  power  of  his  own  personality. 
Whatever  was  transferable,  they  adopted:  fabrics, 
costumes,  and  the  treatment  of  light.  In  the  beginning, 
when  he  was  the  most  admired  painter  of  Holland,  it 
was  their  highest  pride  to  have  their  works  taken  for 
his;  but  later,  when  the  favour  of  the  masses  turned 
from  him,  they  trod  more  conservative  paths,  along 
the  broad  road  of  the  easily  comprehensible. 

As  early  as  1630  Jan  Livens  and  Willem  de  Poorter 
were  inmates  of  his  studio  at  Leyden.   The  former, 

618 


Ube  (Benve  painters 


619 


whose  principal  work  is  a  Sacrifice  of  Abraham  at 
Brunswick,  is  also  known  by  his  woodcuts,  which  were 
formerly  ascribed  to  Rembrandt.  De  Poorter's  Sol- 
omon's Offering  to  False  Gods  is  derived  from  Rem- 
brandt's Simeon  of  1631.  Jacob  Adriaen  Backer,  one 
of  the  first  to  study  under  him  at  Amsterdam,  became 
a  portrait  painter,  and  all  his  life  remained  true  to 
Rembrandt's  style  of  1632.  His  portraits  are  powerful, 
simple,  and  objective  works.  Ferdinand  Bol,  who  in 
his  first  paintings  (the  Flight  into  Egypt,  the  Angels 
at  the  Grave  of  Christ,  and  Tobias)  often  adopted 
Rembrandt's  figures,  became  later  a  tame  and  com- 
prehensible gentleman,  by  which  policy  he  won  the 
favour  of  the  public  to  the  same  extent  that  Rembrandt 
sacrificed  it  by  his  eccentricities.  By  means  of  beauti- 
ful types,  gleaming  columns,  and  majestic  draperies  he 
sought  to  create  in  his  pictures  the  impression  of 
distinction,  which  was  missed  in  those  of  Rembrandt. 
From  Rembrandt  to  van  Dyck:  such  is  the  path  tra- 
versed by  Govaert  Flinck:  and  as  this  Flemish,  im- 
,  pressive  tendency  corresponded  with  the  wishes  of  his 
sitters,  he  became  the  most  popular  portraitist  of 
princely  personages  and  corporations.  Gerbrand  van 
den  Eeckhout  remained  truer  to  the  principles  of 
Rembrandt.  Such  pictures  as  the  Adulteress  of  the 
Amsterdam  Museum  were  influenced  by  Rembrandt 
not  only  in  subject,  but  in  treatment  of  light.  Jan 
Victoors  is  drier  and  more  prosaic;  Solomon  Koninck 
is  in  his  pictures  of  hermits  little  more  than  a  copyist. 


620        Xlbe  BnD  of  Dutcb  painUna 


At  the  beginning  of  the  decade  following  1650,  on  the 
other  hand,  several  excellent  masters  issued  from  the 
school  of  Rembrandt.  Women  peeling  vegetables, 
young  girls  standing  dreamily  at  the  window,  old 
women  at  the  spinning-wheel,  carcasses  of  animals:  such 
is  the  content  of  the  quiet,  delicate,  and  very  modern 
pictures  of  Nicolas  Maes.  The  light  plays  upon  the 
red  table-cloth,  grey  walls,  and  bluish  white  jugs.  In 
pictures  like  his  family  scene  with  a  little  drummer  boy, 
every  chronological  estimate  is  silent:  they  might  be 
exhibited  to-day  and  signed  Christoph  Bischop.  Not 
until  later,  after  he  had  visited  Antwerp,  did  he  begin  to 
give  to  his  portraits  something  of  a  theatrical  dignity. 
Carel  Fabritius,  who  died  at  the  age  of  thirty  at  the 
explosion  of  the  Delft  powder  magazine,  would,  if  he 
had  lived  longer,  have  probably  become  one  of  the 
most  important  masters  of  Holland.  His  few  pictures 
belong  to  the  pictorial  miracles  of  the  school.  In  all 
of  them  a  man  speaks  who  did  not  imitate  Rem- 
brandt, but  followed  independently  the  magic  of  light- 
movements  and  the  charm  of  refmed  colour-effects. 
His  Starling  in  The  Hague  Museum,  especially,  has  as 
modern  an  effect  as  a  study  by  Degas.  The  best 
landscape  painter  of  the  school  is  Philips  Koninck,  to 
whom  Rembrandt  had  revealed  the  poetry  of  the  wide 
plain.  Covered  by  low  shrubbery,  the  flat  landscape 
stretches  endlessly  away;  the  air  is  clear  and  affords 
a  view  into  the  far  distance.  Another  follower  of 
Rembrandt  was  Jan  van  de  Capelle  a  marine  painter, 


XCbe  Oenre  painters  621 


the  most  insinuating  and  subtle  colourist  of  all  of  his 
class  in  Holland.  While  others  had  to  paint  pictures 
of  the  ships  for  their  owners,  Capelle,  who  was  a  rich 
man  and  only  used  the  brush  for  his  own  pleasure, 
could  place  weight  upon  the  purely  artistic.  He  has 
interpreted  the  flitting  play  of  light  more  delicately 
than  the  objective  and  prosaic  Dutch  painters  other- 
wise do.  Aart  de  Gelder  had  the  courage  to  enter 
Rembrandt's  studio  in  those  years  when  Rembrandt 
had  become  the  laughing  stock  of  children.  As  de 
Poorter  reflects  the  detailed,  youthful  style  of  the 
master,  de  Gelder  shows  that  of  the  half-blind  sufferer, 
who  could  only  labour  with  mahlstock  and  palette- 
knife.  Many  pictures  by  him,  like  Abraham  with  the 
Angels,  the  Ecce  Homo  at  Dresden,  and  Boa{  in  Ber- 
lin are  of  such  powerful  and  broad  technique  that 
they  were  formerly  considered  works  of  the  age  of 
Rembrandt. 

It  is,  by  the  way,  only  an  echo  of  Rembrandt's  spirit 
if  his  pupils  occasionally  paint  biblical  subjects.  All 
other  Dutchmen  knew  nothing  of  the  dream  life,  but 
rested  firmly  and  contentedly  upon  the  earth,  happy 
in  their  mediocrity :  quiet  settlers  who  tilled  their  little 
fields  with  diligence  and  intelligence. 

In  spite  of  its  world-wide  commerce  Holland  was  at 
bottom  a  philistine  little  country.  Even  to-day, 
he  who  treads  the  halls  of  one  of  the  old  patrician 
houses  of  Amsterdam  is  amazed  at  the  precise  neatness, 
cleanliness,  and  order,  and  at  the  philistine  ennui  and 


622        Zbc  BnO  ot  Dutcb  painttuG 

the  self-satisfied  comfort  which  reign  there.  All  the 
copper  utensils  shine,  and  in  the  great  chests  which  are 
^  carefully  dusted  every  morning  hes  the  substantial 
store  of  linen  lasting  for  generations,  which  was  the 
pride  of  our  grandmothers.  Along  the  walls,  as  cor- 
rectly placed  as  soldiers,  stand  the  chairs;  and  upon  the 
panelling  of  the  walls,  arranged  with  equal  regularity, 
are  the  faiences,  the  silver  flagons  and  mugs.  Above 
hang  the  pictures,  small  cabinet  pieces,  which  are  dusted 
with  the  same  care  as  the  furniture,  and  in  their  colour 
harmonise  with  the  soft  light  of  the  rooms.  Delft 
ware,  very  carefully  executed  line-engravings,  and 
maps,  reminding  us  of  the  world-wide  possessions  of 
a  seafaring  people,  are  also  displayed.  In  the  garden 
nearly  everything  is  straight-lined,  stiff,  or  laid  out  in 
circles:  the  trees  as  well  as  the  sod;  and  in  rectangular 
carefully  tended  flower-beds  tulips  and  hyacinths 
grow.  Even  the  fai^ades  of  the  houses  gleam  in  snowy 
whiteness:  for  they  are  painted  once  or  twice  a  year, 
thanks  to  the  careful  cleanliness  which  is  a  proverbial 
characteristic  of  the  Hollanders.  Everything  in  the 
country  shows  order  and  a  sense  for  the  practical :  clean 
houses,  as  well  as  the  well-trimmed  rows  of  trees  grow- 
ing in  faultless  regularity  about  the  quays.  Even  the 
landscape  is  divided  by  streams,  canals,  and  the  straight 
boundaries  of  fields  as  if  in  accordance  with  a  mathe- 
matical design. 

The  art  of  Holland  harmonises  with  the  general 
character  of  the  country.    Even  to-day  its  painting  is 


Ube  Genre  painters  623 


somewhat  bourgeois  and  limited  in  its  self-contented 
phlegm,  inimicable  to  change.  It  possesses  neither 
fantasy  nor  poetry.  One  breathes  the  soft,  regular 
warmth  of  the  great  fragrant  stoves,  which  stand  in  the 
wealthier  Dutch  houses.  A  contemplative  contented- 
ness  and  a  comfortable  provincialism  characterise 
everything.  The  painters  confme  themselves  to  the 
representation  of  their  home,  the  stately  harbours  of 
their  ports,  the  quiet  simplicity  of  their  life,  the  heavy 
weight  of  their  cattle,  and  the  fertile  soil  of  their  fields. 
Strangers  to  all  revolutions,  to  all  impetuous  boldness, 
they  follow  their  thoughtful  temperament  and  form 
a  quiet  nation  in  which  no  tumult  sounds.  Everything 
is  tasteful  and  of  an  almost  tiresome  excellence.  As 
they  paint  to-day,  they  painted  two  centuries  ago, 
Every  one  has  his  small  field  which  he  tills  un- 
ceasingly, and  paints  one  picture  which  he  repeats 
all  his  life. 

Genre-painting,  which  in  the  beginning  found  its 
subjects  only  in  scenes  of  soldiers'  life,  was  greatly  ex- 
tended to  include  all  life — progressed  from  soldiers  to 
the  portrayal  of  the  peasantry,  and  then  to  the  repre- 
sentation of  city  life. 

It  is  difficult  to  acquire  a  taste  for  the  peasant 
pictures  of  the  seventeenth  century.  Since  the  days  of 
Millet  we  have  gained  too  serious  a  conception  of  the 
ethical  importance  of  art  and  of  man's  labour  to  find 
pleasure  in  the  puppet-show  of  the  old  Dutch  masters. 
The  mighty  words,  "I  labour,'  which  first  gave  to 


624 


Ube  Ent)  of  S)tttcb  painting 


peasant-painting  its  significance,  had  not  penetrated 
their  consciousness.  Not  one  of  all  these  painters  dares 
to  plunge  into  the  depths  of  life.  They  make  a  mum- 
mery of  peasant  life,  and  let  their  heroes  experience  so 
much  pleasure  that  the  question  of  their  sustenance  is 
not  even  touched.  No  one  seeks  the  people  at  labour, 
in  the  field,  behind  the  plough  and  harrow,  with  the 
scythe,  spade,  or  hoe.  Drinking,  revelry  and  the 
dance,  quarrelling  and  cracking  of  skulls  are  the  only 
themes.  The  romances  of  roguery  which  at  that  time 
appeared  as  a  special  branch  of  literature  afford  a 
parallel.  The  types  also  are  strangely  alike.  It  is  not 
to  be  supposed  that  there  were  ever  such  stupid-look- 
ing peasants,  such  sawed-off,  thick-nosed  beings  who 
vegetated  in  half-animal  stupidity.  It  is  likewise 
incredible  that  peasants  appeared  so  charming  and 
clean  as  they  appear  in  other  pictures;  that  they  had 
such  clean  nails,  and  trod  a  measure  with  the  dainti- 
ness of  a  cavalier,  taking  a  dancing  lesson.  The  latter 
made  the  peasant  artistic  by  endowing  him  with  the 
charms  of  the  salon;  the  former  by  treating  him  as  a 
fool  over  whose  stupidity  and  coarseness  the  refined 
burghers  could  laugh. 

The  first  path  was  taken  by  the  Flemings.  When 
David  Teniers,  inspired  by  the  successes  of  the  Dutch, 
began  to  paint  peasant  pictures,  he  chose  the  most 
dapper  youths  and  prettiest  girls;  he  idealised  them 
and  gave  them  a  touch  of  distinction,  and  made  the 
peasant  popular  as  an  artistic  subject  by  paring  his 


Ubc  Gcnvc  painters  625 


nails  and  smoothing  down  his  coarseness.  All  act  like 
well-bred  people;  they  dance,  skip,  and  sing;  but  with 
decency  and  reserve.  However  extended  the  repertoire 
of  his  figures  appears,  they  are  in  truth  only  changing 
marionettes,  whose  words  are  written  down,  whose 
gestures  are  prescribed,  actors  in  peasant's  garb,  who 
never  forget  that  the  pubHc  before  which  they  appear 
consists  of  very  proper  ladies  and  gentlemen. 

Adriaen  van  Ostade,  who  stands  at  the  opposite 
pole,  tries  to  raise  a  laugh  by  the  stupidity  of  the  types, 
the  droUness  of  their  mien,  and  the  comical  situation. 
Boorishness  and  good-natured  stupidity  is  his  domain. 
Beginning  with  tavern  quarrels  and  their  rude  scenes 
in  the  spirit  of  Brouwer,  he  later  yields  to  Dutch 
phlegm,  and  substitutes  contemplative  peasant  in- 
teriors for  the  debauches  of  an  earlier  period.  The 
people  no  longer  rage  and  quarrel,  but  eat,  drink,  and 
smoke  in  the  tavern.  A  fiddler  goes  through  the 
village,  and  by  his  music  attracts  the  people  to  the 
window;  or  the  family  sits  listening  in  an  arbour  before 
the  house  door.  Although  a  reflective,  peaceful,  and 
idyllic  tone  pervades  his  last  works,  he  cannot  dispense 
with  the  cheap  joke  of  distorting  the  heads  into  long- 
nosed  caricatures. 

His  younger  brother,  Isaac  van  Ostade,  who  was  par- 
ticularly occupied  with  the  traffic  of  horses  and  waggons, 
in  front  of  rural  taverns,  is  more  serious  and  objective. 
Horsemen  approach,  the  peasant-carts  make  a  halt, 
horses  are  being  shod,  and  beggars  loiter  about  the  road. 


626 


Ubc  JBn^  of  Butcb  paintino 


As  he  avoids  constrained  effects  and  approaches 
things  as  a  simple  observer,  his  pictures  are  more 
sympathetic  to  us  than  the  others.  We  can  no  longer 
appreciate  the  vulgarity  and  cheap  jokes  of  Cornelis 
Bega,  Richard  Brakenburgh,  and  Cornelis  Dusart. 
Their  "  hearty  humour "  and  vulgar  clownishness  no 
longer  provoke  laughter,  and  their  paintings  show  that 
along  these  paths  progress  was  no  longer  possible. 
To  say  nothing  of  the  circumstance  that  the  blunt  tone 
which  prevailed  in  the  school  of  Frans  Hals  no  longer 
found  appreciation  in  the  proper  Holland  of  the  decade 
following  1650,  the  trouble  was  that  the  painters 
discovered  no  new  traits  in  peasant  life.  The  stupid, 
coarse,  and  crude  remained  their  circumscribed  domain. 
As  they  saw  in  the  peasant  only  the  voracious,  drunken, 
quarrelsome  boor,  the  peasant  picture  of  the  seven- 
teenth century  degenerated  into  a  hollow  farce,  and 
not  until  the  nineteenth  could  it,  borne  by  a  new  social 
and  literary  movement,  be  seriously  revived. 

Jan  Steen,  the  Moliere  of  Dutch  painting,  has  at 
least  done  the  service  of  having  enlarged  its  subject- 
matter.  In  his  portrait  of  himself  he  appears  grinning 
with  a  tankard  at  his  side.  This  hilarious  trend,  a 
boorish,  Falstaffian  humour  pervades  most  of  his  works. 
The  tavern  is  the  place  where  as  a  man  and  a  painter 
he  is  most  at  home.  Peasants  quarrel  and  throw  mugs 
at  each  other's  heads :  a  drunken  man  is  dragged  home 
by  his  comrades:  a  quack,  in  front  of  a  tavern,  offers 
his  remedies,  or  an  old  scamp  courts  the  waitress.  But 


TLbc  Genre  painters 


627 


the  jolly  landlord  of  Leyden  was  not  exclusively  a 
painter  of  tavern  humour.  He  also  paints  children's 
festivals  and  scenes  of  the  toilette,  serenades  and 
weddings  in  which  acute,  mischievous,  and  witty  traits 
replace  crude  clumsiness.  At  times  he  has  even  a 
didactic  and  morahsing  air,  and  he  swings  a  satiric 
scourge  almost  like  Hogarth.  As  it  was  won,  so  it  is 
spent;  As  the  old  sang,  so  the  young  pipe;  IV hat  avails 
light  and  spectacles,  if  the  owl  does  not  wish  to  see;  Here 
no  medicine  will  help,  she  is  love-sick — such  are  the 
characteristic  titles  of  the  works  in  which  he  satisfied 
those  who  demanded  artistic  qualities  in  a  picture,  as 
well  as  those  who  wished  to  read  amusing  stories  from 
it 

A  finer  variety  of  genre-painting  is  that  which,  look- 
ing aside  from  all  narrative  and  representation  of 
character,  places  the  weight  upon  artistic  quaUties 
exclusively.  All  of  these  painters  were  jesters  and 
entertained  the  correct  mynheers  by  narrating  the 
dissipation  and  crude  conduct  of  the  people.  Some 
did  it  in  the  form  of  crude  drollery :  others  were  quieter 
and  more  sedate.  This  drastic  crudity  was  followed 
by  the  epigram,  the  farce  by  the  novel.  But  the  start- 
ing-point still  remained  the  anecdote.  The  poetry  of 
the  simple  and  the  charm  of  the  purely  pictorial  had 
not  yet  been  discovered:  for  the  Dutch  burghers 
appreciated  the  subject-matter  rather  than  artistic 
qualities.  The  problem  was  to  educate  the  burgher  to 
art.    So  the  clowns  were  followed  by  the  painters.  The 


628 


XTbe  ]£n^  of  Dutcb  painting 


themes  became  indifferent — simple  scenes  from  every- 
day life  without  action  or  episode — and  the  beauty 
of  the  painting  Hes  in  its  purely  technical  qualities. 
There  the  people  grin,  gaze  at  the  beholder,  and  play  a 
comedy  for  him;  here  they  are  among  themselves  and 
do  nothing  interesting,  but  dream,  read,  write,  make 
music,  or  amuse  themselves.  From  the  colour  and 
treatment  of  light  alone  the  sentiment  is  developed. 

The  conquest  of  the  purely  artistic  was  made  easier 
by  the  circumstance  that  some  painters  came  into 
contact  with  a  more  aristocratic  culture.  Gerhard 
Terborg,  who  stands  at  the  head  of  this  group,  prob- 
ably issued  from  the  school  of  Frans  Hals.  A  blackish- 
grey  tone,  resembling  the  scale  preferred  by  Frans  Hals 
in  his  later  years,  gives  to  his  youthful  works  their 
individuality,  in  contrast  to  the  light  and  shade  of 
others.  About  his  figures  he  arranged,  as  did  also 
the  masters  of  Hals's  school,  skulls,  hour-glasses,  and 
books  into  veritable  still-life.  Soon,  however,  other 
masters  entered  his  horizon.  A  cavalier  and  an  enter- 
prising spirit,  he  went  in  1635  to  the  court  of  Charles 
I.  of  England,  where  he  was  attracted  by  the  female 
portraits  of  van  Dyck,  with  their  gleaming,  milk- 
white  satin  robes.  In  1648  he  was  present  at  the  peace 
of  Munster  which  he  commemorated  in  the  picture  of 
the  London  National  Gallery:  and  this  residence  at 
Munster  had  the  further  result  that,  at  the  suggestion 
of  the  Spanish  ambassador,  he  tried  his  fortune  in 
Madrid.    Although  Velasquez  was  at  this  time  at 


XTbe  Genre  painters  629 


Rome,  his  paintings  hung  in  the  Alcazar,  and  the  later 
works  of  Terborg  show  the  deep  impression  which  the 
spirit  and  the  colour  of  Velasquez  made  upon  him. 
Distinguished  gentlemen  of  almost  Spanish  grandena 
are  presented  in  his  portraits,  as  with  Velasquez  dressed 
in  black,  standing  out  in  full  figure  from  the  pearl-grey 
wall.  It  is  the  Spanish  court  manner  translated  into 
the  Dutch  miniature  style.  Likewise  in  his  genre- 
paintings  he  has  adopted  not  only  the  yellow  of  the 
great  Spaniard,  but  his  much-admired  pink,  his  mystic 
grey,  and  his  deep  black.  He  also  preserves  an  aris- 
tocratic dignity  and  a  cool  reserve  which  distinguish 
him  from  the  mass  of  crude  Hollanders  as  a  knightly, 
almost  Spanish  figure. 

Although  the  days  of  war  were  past,  Terborg  re- 
mained the  painter  of  soldiers,  partly  because  the 
lieutenant  had  a  sort  of  knightly  halo  for  the  Dutch 
burgher,  partly  because  bright  uniforms,  swords,  and 
plumed  hats,  contrasted  with  the  white  satin  dresses 
and  ermine-lined  silk  jackets  of  charming  ladies, 
afforded  possibilities  of  distinguished  harmonies  of 
colour.  These  demands  of  colour  alone  determined 
the  content  of  his  pictures.  A  dapper  trumpeter  as  a 
love-messenger  delivers  a  letter,  awaits  the  answer,  and 
presents  the  message  to  his  master,  or  officers  sit  with 
ladies  in  gallant  tete-a-tete.  Even  the  celebrated 
picture  which  Goethe  describes  as  Fatherly  Advice 
shows  in  truth  nothing  but  a  man  with  a  plumed 
hat,  beside  a  lady  in  black  and  in  front  of  a  lady  in 


630 


Zbc  BnD  of  5)utcb  paintina 


white.  His  paintings  of  still-life  are  usually  arranged 
about  silver  cups,  finely  cut  glasses,  silver  chandeliers, 
Delft  porcelain,  and  the  most  costly  products  of  foreign 
applied  art  which  came  to  Holland  by  way  of  the  col- 
onies. If,  instead  of  love,  music  forms  the  theme, 
the  performers  do  not  sing  and  fiddle  as  with  Ostade 
and  Steen;  the  scenes  are  laid  exclusively  in  the  salon 
and  in  select  society.  The  lute,  whose  soft  silvery 
sound  suits  well  the  silver  tone  of  the  paintings,  is  used 
either  for  solos  or  else  in  duets  between  ladies  and 
gentlemen.  Distinguished,  cool,  and  placid  are  the 
proper  epithets  for  all  of  his  pictures. 

One  other  painter  alone  has  the  same  Spanish' effect : 
Michel  Sweerts,  who  is  known  by  a  single  but  very  fine 
picture  in  the  Munich  Pinakothek.  Four  men  are  re- 
presented sitting  in  a  tavern;  yet  one  hardly  observes 
the  figures,  but  only  the  harmony  of  the  black  and 
whitish  grey  tones.  In  an  etching  known  to  be  by  his 
hand  Sweerts  calls  himself  eques  et  pidor,  and  it  seems 
strange  that  we  do  not  know  more  of  this  knightly 
painter. 

As  devoid  of  subject  as  Terborg's  are  Pieter  de 
Hooch's  pictures.  A  few  people  are  gathered  in  a  room 
in  front  of  the  house  door,  in  a  court,  or  in  a  garden; 
a  woman  reads  a  letter,  sits  sewing  or  rocking  the 
cradle,  gives  alms  to  a  beggar-boy,  or  arranges  her  little 
daughter's  hair.  What  charms  the  master  is  chiefly 
the  sunlight ,which,  like  a  stream  of  gold-dust,  pours  into 
the  softly  lighted  rooms  or  gloomy  courtyards.     He  is 


GERARD  TERBORG 


OFFICER  WRITING  A  LETTER 

Dresden  Gallery 


U\)c  (3enre  painters  631 


especially  fond  of  varying  the  effects  of  illumination 
by  displaying  a  view  through  several  rooms.  In  the 
foreground,  perhaps,  is  a  room  into  which  the  sun  shines 
brightly,  and  through  the  open  door  one  looks  into 
another  which  is  even  more  brightly  illuminated,  or 
perhaps  pervaded  by  a  soft  twilight;  or  the  eye  falls 
upon  a  shady  garden  and  the  street  beside  it  is  flooded 
by  warm  sunlight.  In  his  charming  simplicity  de  Hooch 
is  a  very  delicate  master.  Without  thinking  of  prais- 
ing the  artist,  one  would  like  to  sit  in  these  cozy  rooms, 
where  the  sunshine  falls  upon  the  floor  and  chests  and 
the  kettle  hums  softly  over  the  glimmering  fire. 

He  had  two  doubles  who  were  formerly  often  confused 
with  him:  Esaias  Boursse  and  Johannes  Janssens.  Their 
difference  from  de  Hooch  consists  only  in  the  circum- 
stance that  the  people  whom  they  paint  are  less  well- 
to-do.  His  belong  to  the  wealthy  bourgeoisie,  whose 
houses  are  paved  with  marble  tiles,  and  contain  heavy, 
handsome  furniture.  The  rooms  of  the  people  whom 
Boursse  and  Janssens  paint  are  poorer  and  barer. 
They  are  paved  with  red  brick,  and  instead  of  the  warm 
glowing  tones  of  de  Hooch,  greenish-brown  colours 
prevail. 

Jan  van  der  Meer  is  the  master  of  the  brightly  flaring 
sunlight.  His  teacher,  Carel  Fabritius,  the  refmed 
pupil  of  Rembrandt,  had  directed  his  attention  to  light- 
painting;  but  the  problems  which  he  attempted  are 
quite  different  from  those  of  de  Hooch.  The  latter 
paints  entire  forms  with  full-length  figures;  and  the 


632 


XTbe  Bub  ot  H)utcb  paintina 


light  pours  through  the  door,  bathing  everything 
evenly  in  soft  tones.  Van  der  Meer,  on  the  other 
hand,  places  the  figures  near  the  side  of  the  picture 
and  presents  them  in  half-size,  depicting  only  a  part 
of  the  room.  The  light  does  not  enter  through  a  door 
but  through  a  window  at  the  side;  and  as  the  figures 
sit  quite  in  the  foreground  they  remain  in  the  gloom, 
while  the  middle  and  the  background  flare  in  bright 
sunlight.  The  scale  of  colour  is  also  different. 
Whereas  de  Hooch's  pictures  are  attuned  to  a  dark  red, 
van  der  Meer  loves  a  bright,  misty  blue  and  a  delicate 
citron-yellow;  a  map  with  black  bevelled  frame  is 
generally  on  the  wall,  upon  whose  fine  pearl  grey  it 
forms  a  piquant  white  and  black  spot. 

Nicolas  Koedijk,  Pieter  van  Slingeland,  Quirin 
Brekelenkam,  Jacob  Ochterveld,  and  Nicolas  Verkolje 
should  further  be  mentioned;  and  Gabriel  Metsu  in- 
cludes them  all.  The  themes  of  Terborg  (ladies  at  the 
toilette,  officers,  trumpeters,  and  musical  entertain- 
ments) alternate  with  the  doctor's  visits  of  Steen  and 
with  the  fish  and  vegetable  markets.  Although 
Metsu's  activity  included  but  a  few  years,  he  illus- 
trated the  entire  life  of  Holland,  that  of  the  people  as 
well  as  of  more  distinguished  circles. 

ITU.  XTbe  XanOscape  patnters 


Equally  popular  with  genre  pictures  were  animal  sub- 
jects. The  raising  of  cattle  was  an  important 
pursuit  in  Holland,    and   even    to-day   the  land 


XTbe  XanOscape  painters  633 

resembles  a  great  farm-yard:  a  soft  carpet  of  turf 
spreads  over  hill  and  dale;  clover  and  vegetable  fields, 
splendid  meadows  stretch  out,  and  everywhere 
are  pastures  surrounded  by  hedges.  Fat  oxen  and 
sheep,  as  white  as  though  they  had  just  been  washed,  lie 
upon  the  grass.  At  the  head  of  these  animal  painters 
stands  Paul  Potter,  who  painted  with  Dutch  objectivity 
the  mighty  brown  masses  of  flesh  and  the  slow,  heavy 
tread  of  the  cattle.  They  are  essentially  Dutch,  for 
they  know  neither  passions,  nor  struggles,  nor  move- 
ment, but  chew  the  cud  phlegmatically  or  lie  down  in 
comfortable  repose.  Round  about  the  greenest  of 
meadows  extends,  and  above  it  is  a  mighty  heaven, 
which  shades  imperceptibly  into  the  sea.  Adriaen  van 
de  Velde  is  more  mobile  and  coquettish;  he  has  less 
power  and  more  grace.  Instead  of  the  bright  green 
spring  colours  of  Potter,  a  golden  chiaroscuro  pervades 
his  works.  The  cattle,  with  Potter  the  principal  theme, 
are  with  him  only  a  part  of  the  landscape. 

Pictures  of  horses  were  painted  during  the  first  half 
of  the  century  by  Gerrit  Bleeker;  he  was  followed  by 
Palamades,  who  painted  cavalry  conflicts  of  stormy 
movement,  and  by  Pieter  van  Laar,  a  healthy  and 
powerful  master  who  found  charming  things  to  paint 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Rome  in  front  of  the  decaying 
smithies  and  taverns.  The  best  known  of  this  group 
is  the  graceful  and  elegant  Philips  Wouwerman. 
Soldiers  having  their  horses  shod;  gypsies,  and  peasants 
going  to  market ;  ladies  and  gentlemen  riding  to  a  deer 


or  falcon  hunt;  distinguished  companies  of  hunters  at 
breakfast,  or  cavaHers  in  a  riding-school — ^such  is  the 
content  of  his  pictures.  The  execution  is  clever  and 
distinguished.  In  order  to  attain  an  interesting  spot 
of  light  colour,  he  usually  places  a  white  horse  in  the 
foreground.  Poultry  found  its  specialist  in  Melchior 
Hondekoeter,  whose  poultry  yards,  turkeys,  peacocks, 
and  ducks  are  to  be  seen  in  all  galleries. 

The*  landscape-painters  progressed  along  the  paths 
which  Esaias  van  de  Velde  and  Hercules  Seghers  had 
trod.  As  the  popular  style  demanded  such  additions 
these  earlier  masters  could  hardly  dispense  with  the 
appropriate  figures  in  landscape — such  as  riders,  fisher- 
men, foot-passengers,  and  skaters.  Now  the  figures 
disappear,  and  the  landscape  is  raised  to  an  independent 
artistic  production.  At  the  same  time  that  Spinoza 
proclaimed  his  pantheism,  landscape-painting  achieved 
its  earUest  triumphs. 

As  regards  colour  the  Dutch  landscapes  differ  from 
their  predecessors  in  that  beauty  of  colour  is  superseded 
by  beauty  of  tone:  a  peculiarity  which  is  partially  to 
be  explained  by  the  foggy  atmosphere  of  Holland 
which  subdues  all  colours,  and  partly  by  the  reaction 
against  the  school  of  Brueghel.  The  highest  aim  of 
the  Flemish  masters  had  been  fresh  gaiety  of  colour.  By 
introducing  three  tones,  brown,  green,  and  blue,  for 
the  fore-,  middle-,  and  backgrounds,  they  changed 
nature  into  a  shimmering,  many-coloured  stage,  in  the 
,  midst  of  which  gaudy  scenes  gay  little  figures  and 


XTbe  Xanbscape  painters  635 


gleaming  animals  wander  about.  In  the  Dutch  pic- 
tures, on  the  other  hand,  all  contrasts  of  colour  and 
indeed  all  pronounced  colours  are  avoided.  The  bright 
green  of  the  trees,  as  well  as  the  blue  of  the  sky  and 
the  colours  of  the  figures,  are  all  subordinated  to  a  dark, 
usually  brown,  colour  scheme.  The  conception  of 
colour  which  had  been  developed  in  painting  small 
interior  pictures  is  determinative  also  for  the  landscape. 

Jan  van  Goyen,  the  earliest  of  this  group,  is  most  at 
home  on  the  coast  of  the  Zuyder-Zee  and  the  banks 
of  the  Maas.  Rivers  with  lazy,  rolling  waves,  with 
boats  gliding  silently  to  the  sea,  with  fishers  drawing 
their  nets  to  the  land  are  his  usual  themes.  A  moist 
and  misty  brown  is  his  characteristic  feature.  Solomon 
Ruysdael  uses  brighter  colours,  especially  in  his  foliage, 
which  is  not  greyish  brown  but  a  yellowish  green. 
Shining  Waters,  in  which  his  favourite  tree,  the  willow, 
is  reflected,  occur  most  frequently  in  his  pictures. 

His  nephew  and  pupil,  Jacob  Ruysdael,  is  rightfully 
considered  the  greatest  Dutch  landscape  painter.  A 
majestic  "gallery"  beauty  which  shows  to  advantage  on 
parade  is  characteristic  of  all  of  his  pictures.  At  the 
same  time  he  is  more  versatile  than  the  others,  and 
has  painted  everything  which  his  home  olTered :  oaks  a 
century  old  and  hills  covered  with  heather;  ponds  and 
stagnant  water;  deeply  shaded  woods  in  which  herds 
graze;  and  wild  waterfalls  roaring  through  dark  pines. 
Ruysdael's  pictures,  indeed,  reflect  the  fortunes  of  his 
life.    He  belonged  with  Hals  and  Rembrandt  to  those 


636 


Ube  36nD  of  Dutcb  paintino 


artists  who  were  not  understood  by  their  time.  He 
passed  his  last  years  lonely  and  careworn,  and  ended 
his  life  in  a  hospital.  Of  these  gloomy  experiences  his 
pictures  seem  to  tell  us.  He  began  quietly  and  peace- 
fully, painting  the  sand-dunes  in  the  environs  of  Am- 
sterdam, tiled  roofs,  fields,  shrubbery,  and  the  wide 
plain  reposing  under  a  bright  and  silver  grey  sky.  Then 
came  the  time  of  quiet,  self-conscious  power:  great 
broad-topped  oaks  which  defy  every  storm  and  raise 
their  mighty  branches  to  heaven.  Then  the  struggle 
and  the  lost  illusions  are  reflected  in  sceneries  of  de- 
struction, a  terrified  nature  and  the  devastation  of 
the  elements.  Cold,  black  storm-clouds,  through 
whose  darkness  livid  lightning  quivers,  gather  in  the 
sky;  streaming  rain  pours  down  upon  the  ruins  of  a 
church;  waterfalls  foam  over  rocks,  from  the  lonely 
darkness  of  the  forest,  bearing  cliffs  and  shivered  pine 
trees  along  with  them.  Sometimes  the  storm  shakes 
the  crowns  of  bare,  withered  trees;  the  surging  waves 
toss  about  little  fisher-huts,  and  stones  torn  loose  are 
shattered  with  a  shrill  noise  upon  the  seashore.  Finally 
came  the  time  of  loneliness,  of  melancholy  resignation. 
He  leads  us  into  the  darkness  of  the  primeval  wood; 
a  white  cover  of  snow  Hes  like  a  funeral  shroud  over  the 
earth;  in  gloomy  brown  the  sky  forms  a  vault  over 
weather-beaten  gravestones;  a  tired  mountain  brook 
seeks  its  way  over  broken  tombstones. 

As  Meindert  Hobbema  also  could  not  have  subsisted 
as  a  painter,  he  accepted  a  position  as  tax  gatherer, 


JACOB  VAN  RUYSDAEL 


THE  WATERFALL 

Dresden  Gallery 


Zbc  Xanbscape  painters  637 


to  protect  himself  from  want.  Modest  in  his  require- 
ments and  content  with  Httle,  he  passed  his  Hfe  as  a 
happy  father  of  a  family.  His  modesty,  happiness,  and 
contentment  are  reflected  in  his  art.  No  surging 
waves  and  threatening  clouds,  no  gloomy  pines  and 
melancholy  ruins,  but  peasant's  houses,  mills,  and  quiet 
brooks  and  foliage.  In  idyllic  peace,  in  sunny  joy- 
fulness  the  earth  lies  before  us.  He  paints  roads  leading 
to  quiet  villages;  sunny  field-paths  which  are  lost  in  the 
green ;  ponds  where  quacking  ducks  bathe  and  water- 
lilies  raise  their  heads.  Red-tiled  roofs  gleam  through 
the  trees,  and  in  the  quiet  cool  of  the  woods  a  mill 
paddles  and  rays  of  sunlight  scurry  through  the  foliage. 
In  this  regard  also  he  differs  from  Ruysdael,  that  nature 
has  with  him  something  joyful  and  friendly.  Ruysdael, 
the  lonely  man,  painted  solitude,  graveyards,  primeval 
forests,  thick  impenetrable  underbrush.  With  Hob- 
bema  rocking  boats  near  the  shore  betray  the  presence 
of  fishermen  near  by.  The  smoke  ascending  softly 
from  peaceful  huts  relates  of  the  people  who  live  in 
them: 

"In  einem  kiihlen  Grunde 
Da  geht  ein  Miihlenrad," 

such  is  the  sentiment  of  his  idylHc  and  friendly  art. 

Of  the  other  painters  each  preferred  a  landscape 
and  an  hour  which  appealed  most  distinctly  to  his 
sentiment.  It  is  characteristically  Dutch,  the  way  in 
which  they  follow  their  quiet  temperaments,  always 
repeating,  without  need  of  change,  the  same  things. 


638        Ubc  But)  of  Dutcb  patnttno 


A  sandy  road  and  an  old  stump  covered  with  ivy;  a 
fallen  tree-trunk  near  by,  and  on  the  other  side  a  view 
of  sandy  hills :  such  is  the  ever-recurring  content  of  the 
pictures  of  Jan  Wynants.  Aelbert  Cuyp  is  the  painter 
of  the  sky.  The  earth  lies  there  like  a  brown  mass  of 
copper  under  a  blazing  red  steel  cupola.  Whether  he 
paints  grazing  cattle  or  camp  scenes,  the  principal 
theme  is  not  the  landscape,  but  the  mighty  dome  of 
heaven  forming  the  crimson,  gleaming  vault  above  it. 
Van  der  Neer  is  celebrated  as  the  painter  of  twilight 
and  the  night.  He  paints  skaters  enjoying  themselves 
in  the  foggy  winter  afternoon  on  the  ice;  conflagrations 
quivering  through  the  gloom  of  night;  and  oftener  still 
the  moonlight  spreading  itself  in  reddish-brown  har- 
monies over  lonely  dunes.  The  eye  of  the  Hollanders 
was  so  attuned  to  brown  that  even  the  moonlight  did 
not  appear  to  them  in  a  silvery  blue  mist,  but  as  golden 
light  in  deep,  warm  tones.  Antonis  Waterloo,  master 
of  the  forest  glades,  and  Jan  Beerstraten,  the  master 
of  the  snow  landscapes,  might  futher  be  mentioned, 
without  exhausting  the  list  of  Dutch  landscape 
painters.  he  whole  country  seems  to  have  been 
divided  among  the  painters,  every  one  of  whom  had 
his  own  plot  which  according  to  his  abilities  he  tilled. 

After  having  described  Holland,  they  occupied 
themselves  with  foreign  countries,  and  by  the  interest 
in  the  subject  sought  to  give  their  paintings  new  power 
of  attraction.  Allart  Everdingen,  the  painter  of 
Norway,  had,  during  his  wanderings  in  the  Scandi- 


XTbe  Xanbscape  painters  639 


navian  mountains,  filled  his  sketch-books  with  the 
studies  which  he  afterwards  used  at  Haarlem  and 
Amsterdam.  His  celebrity  was  due  rather  to  the 
novelty  of  the  subject  than  to  artistic  qualities.  For  at 
bottom  he  is  a  mere  declaimer  who  speaks  in  strong 
hyperboles.  Gloomy  fir-trees  stand  upon  abrupt  and 
towering  cliffs  over  which  a  torrent  flows ;  or  weather- 
beaten  ruins  tower  upon  pointed  mountain  tops.  In 
endeavouring  to  make  the  wild  landscape  of  Norway 
more  powerful  and  effective  than  it  really  is,  he 
crowded  cliffs  and  waterfalls  into  impossible  com- 
positions. As  he  continued  throughout  his  life  to 
make  use  of  the  studies  which  he  had  made  in  his 
youth,  his  last  pictures  are  only  schematic  repetitions. 

Hermann  Saftleven  depicted  the  valley  of  the  Rhine; 
and  Frans  Post  made  a  voyage  in  1637  to  Brazil  with 
Count  Maurice  of  Nassau,  painted  South  American 
landscapes  with  brown,  half-naked  people,  white  tents, 
palms,  and  tropical  sunlight— pictures  which  might  as 
well  belong  to  the  time  of  Bellermann  and  Eduard 
Hildebrandt  as  in  the  seventeenth  century.  But  Italy 
in  especial  again  became  the  promised  land.  Jan 
Both,  Hermann  Swanefeld,  Nicolas  Berchem,  Hendrik 
Mommers,  Karel  Dujardin,  Johannes  Lingelbach,  Jan 
Asselyn,  Adam  Pynaker,  Jan  Griffier,  and  many  others 
began  anew  the  pilgrimages  to  the  South,  and  painted 
the  solemn  lines  and  glowing  light  of  the  Campagna. 
That  the  subject  of  their  pictures  was  one  of  tiresome 
monotony  can  be  explained,  as  in  the  case  of  Ever- 


640 


XTbe  iSn^  of  Butcb  painting 


dingen,  by  the  fact  that  the  contents  of  their  portfolios 
were  soon  exhausted.  Roman  peasants  clothed  with 
goatskin,  peasant  women  riding  astride  of  asses,  shep- 
herds, muleteers,  brigands,  and  bagpipers,  with  an  old 
Roman  aqueduct,  a  broken  marble  column,  a  temple, 
or  the  fragment  of  a  statue  in  the  background;  of 
such  materials  they  constructed  their  landscapes,  like 
mathematicians  testing  different  combinations  of  a 
row  of  figures. 

In  addition  to  landscape,  marine  painting  was  equally 
popular,  as  might  be  expected  from  the  important 
part  which  the  sea  played  in  Dutch  life.  Simon  de 
Vlieger,  Willem  van  de  Velde,  Reynier  Nooms,  Abra- 
ham Storck,  and  Ludolf  Bakhuyzen  are  the  most  cele- 
brated names  in  this  branch.  Refmed  subtleties  need 
not  be  expected  in  their  works.  They  did  not  suc- 
ceed in  rendering  the  restlessness  of  the  waves  in 
motion,  or  the  reflection  of  the  water.  In  fact,  they 
think  far  less  of  sentiment  than  of  ships.  Their  aim  is 
to  satisfy  the  professional  knowledge  of  the  Amsterdam 
merchants,  and  they  therefore  regard  the  ship  with  the 
eye  of  a  ship-owner,  who  examines  whether  every 
mast  and  every  plank  is  properly  placed,  and  the  sea 
with  the  eye  of  a  captain,  who  calculates  whether  a 
voyage  will  be  successful. 

Jacob  Berckheyde  and  Emanuel  de  Witte  painted  the 
interiors  of  the  whitewashed  Reformed  churches,  with 
the  light  streaming  through  high  glass  windows  and  the 
worshippers  filling  the  naves.    Gerrit  Berckheyde  and 


XTbe  !lLant)0cape  painteis  641 


Jan  van  der  Heyden  are  the  painters  of  Dutch  streets 
lined  with  red  brick  houses,  of  quays,  canals,  and 
straight  rows  of  trees.  When  the  name  Weenix  is 
mentioned,  a  discrimination  should  be  made  between 
Jan  Baptista  Weenix  the  father,  and  Jan  Weenix  the 
son.  The  former  lived  four  years  in  Italy,  and  painted 
pictures  of  the  Campagna  with  shepherds  and  ancient 
ruins;  the  name  of  the  latter  is  inseparable  from  the 
thought  of  a  dead  hare,  about  which,  his  favourite, 
animal,  he  arranges  dead  peacocks,  swans,  pheasants, 
partridges,  ducks,  hunting-knives,  and  guns.  To  the 
left  a  large  vase  or  a  reddish-brown  curtain,  to  the  right 
a  view  of  a  park,  forms  the  background. 

The  number  of  "breakfast  painters''  is  inexhaustible. 
Abraham  Beijeren,  who  painted  fruits,  oysters,  lobsters, 
and  glasses;  Marten  Simon,  the  painter  of  partridges, 
Jacop  Gillig  of  fishes,  and  Willem  Kalf  whose  subjects 
were  goblets,  books,  and  shells,  may  be  selected  from 
the  mass.  As  Holland  was  the  land  of  flower-culture, 
flower  painters  like  Jan  and  Cornelis  de  Heem,  Jan 
Huysum,  and  Rachel  Ruysch  found  abundant  occupa- 
tion. One  pays  more  attention  to  the  harmony  of 
colours,  another  to  botanical  exactitude;  a  third  im- 
presses his  patrons  by  painting  insects  upon  the  flowers 
in  sufficiently  detailed  manner  to  be  observed  under  a 
microscope.  It  is  as  difficult  to  make  a  selection  among 
the  Dutch  painters  as  it  is  to  characterise  the  individ- 
uals. They  are  united  by  a  remarkable  family  re- 
semblance and  characterised  by  an  artistic  technique 
41 


642 


XTbe  But)  of  Dutcb  painting 


which  clothes  the  humblest  object  with  pictorial 
charm. 

•fffflF.  Court  Btmoepberc 

It  cannot  however  remain  concealed  that  since  1650 
Dutch  artistic  products  became  more  extensive 
than  intensive.  Great  and  powerful  masters  are 
no  longer  active,  and  the  few  who  did  survive  to  a  later 
time  fared  as  did  Hals  and  Rembrandt.  Prudent 
painters  sought  some  other  means  of  support  than 
painting.  Goyen  speculated  with  old  pictures,  with 
tulips  and  houses;  Jan  Steen,  his  stepson,  was  an  inn- 
keeper; Hobbema  was  a  collector  of  taxes,  Pieter  de 
Hooch  a  bailiflF;  Jan  van  de  Capelle  conducted  a  dye- 
shop,  and  Adriaen  van  de  Velde  was  a  linen  draper. 
Others,  like  Ruysdael,  ended  in  a  hospital  or  stood 
upon  the  list  of  bankrupts;  but  it  was  just  these  who 
brought  life,  spirit,  and  motion  into  monotonous 
artistic  activity. 

After  having  been  the  refuge  of  freedom  Holland 
became  in  course  of  years  a  land  of  shopkeepers.  The 
rugged  race  of  statesmen,  naval  heroes,  and  colony- 
founders  died  out,  and  a  generation  of  rich  bankers 
took  their  place,  who  impressed  art  also  with  the 
pedantic  principles  which  formed  the  content  of  their 
philosophy  of  life.  Just  as  correct  as  the  lives  of  the 
mynheers,  just  as  clear  and  free  of  dust  as  the  Dutch 
rooms,  the  pictures  must  be.  It  pleased  them  to  take 
a  magnifying-glass  in  their  hand  and  discover  things 


Court  mtmospbere  643 


invisible  to  the  naked  eye.  The  result  of  such 
aesthetics  was  that  soulless,  smooth,  and  over-detailed 
painting  which  found  its  first  representative  in  Gerhard 
Dou. 

Dou  was  the  pride  of  his  nation,  and  the  best-paid 
painter  of  his  day.  The  accuracy  of  his  brush-work 
impressed  his  contemporaries  as  much  as  the  geniality 
of  Hals  provoked  them.  When  the  East  India  Com- 
pany congratulated  Charles  II.  upon  his  restoration  to 
the  EngHsh  throne,  they  bought  for  a  ''Meissonier" 
price  a  picture  by  Dou  as  a  present  for  him.  One 
banker  paid  a  thousand  florins  the  year  for  the  option 
of  purchasing  Dou's  pictures.  They  are  to  be  found  in 
all  museums  and  represent  the  most  diverse  subjects; 
but  their  philistine  dryness  is  always  the  same.  There 
are  portraits  in  which  every  fold  and  wrinkle  of  the  skin, 
every  hair  of  the  furs  and  cloaks,  and  every  thread  is 
copied  in  facsimile  with  microscopic  exactitude,  in  the 
spirit  not  of  the  primitives,  but  of  philistine  pedantry. 
Then  came  those  half-length  figures  in  window  alcoves, 
which  were  his  particular  hobby:  such  subjects  as  a 
smiling  maiden,  a  lady  making  her  toilette,  a  girl  water- 
ing flowers,  an  old  man  smoking,  or  a  wrinkled  old  lady 
sitting  over  her  sewing.  Round  about  he  places  the 
things  in  whose  polished  brightness  Dutch  housewives 
took  delight:  mugs,  plates,  glasses,  pots,  and  kettles,  not 
even  forgetting  the  implements  which  effected  this 
cleanliness:  brooms,  rags,  and  brushes.  In  the  display 
of  clothes  every  texture  of  the  cloth  can  be  clearly 


644        Ubc  JBnb  of  Butcb  patntinG 


recognised;  and  with  the  books  he  does  not  neglect  to 
reproduce  the  print  so  exactly  that  it  can  be  read  with 
the  aid  of  a  magnifying-glass.  Instead  of  a  window, 
the  framing  is  sometimes  supplied  by  a  cave  in  which 
hermits  are  seated;  first,  because  such  old  men  have 
many  wrinkles  to  be  painted,  and  then  because  the 
appropriate  crucifixes,  skulls,  hour-glasses,  and  bundles 
of  straw  aflFord  the  opportunity  of  detailed  miniature 
painting.  In  order  to  emphasise  even  more  the  de- 
tailed character  of  the  execution,  he  sometimes  seeks 
the  assistance  of  candle-light.  A  maid  with  a  lighted 
candle  steps  into  the  dining-room,  or  a  baker-woman 
illuminates  her  wares  by  means  of  burning  candles. 
Trivial  jokes  which  give  the  opportunity  for  laughter 
(like  a  waffle-baker  tidying  her  offspring,  or  a  mouse 
gone  astray  in  a  tidy  room)  are  never  scorned.  His 
is  a  witless,  dreary,  petrified  art,  enlivened  by  no 
thought  and  pulsating  with  no  idea.  In  the  soul  of 
Dou  there  lives  the  soul  of  that  Holland  which  clipped 
the  wings  of  Rembrandt,  the  only  real  "  Flying  Dutch- 
man," and  let  Hals  starve. 

Frans  van  Mieris  differs  from  Dou  only  in  that  the 
subjects  of  his  pictures  are  even  more  presentable  in 
the  salon.  Young  ladies  breakfasting  on  oysters, 
trifling  with  a  parrot  or  a  lap  dog,  playing  the  lute,  or 
looking  at  themselves  in  a  mirror,  are  his  usual  themes. 
With  the  same  neatness  as  Dou  his  woollen  jackets,  he 
paints  the  shimmering  silk  clothes,  plumed  hats,  pearl 
necklaces,  and  ermine  furs.    Willem  Mieris,  Eglon  van 


Court  Htmospbere  645 


der  Neer,  Caspar  Netscher,  and  Gottfried  Schalcken 
offer  further  variations  of  such  miniature  fabric  paint- 
ing. At  the  same  time  a  smooth  execution  is  supple- 
mented by  an  affected  grace — something  rosy,  insipid, 
and  banal,  resembhng  heads  of  the  Niobe  type. 
Columns  and  reliefs  having  nothing  to  do  with  the 
subject  are  everywhere  added;  and  fmally,  for  love  of 
the  accessories,  the  subjects  themselves  are  changed. 
As,  during  the  honeymoon  of  young  Holland,  men  had 
taken  pleasure  in  spirited  pictures  of  peasants,  musi- 
cians, dentists, quacks,  and  rat-catchers,  and  at  the  same 
time  of  artistic  deftness  had  delighted  in  Don's  nat- 
uralistic rendition  of  a  pewter  mug,  flower-pot,  majolica 
bowl,  or  broomstick:  now  light  bucolic  shepherd  scenes 
of  affected  elegance  came  into  fashion.  At  first  crude, 
then  petrified  and  trivial,  art  now  becomes  insipid  and 
affected. 

The  portraits  explain  how  this  change  came  about. 
In  the  oldest,  stiff-necked  democrats  and  rugged 
plebeians  are  represented;  their  sons  became  wealthy 
householders,  ostentatious  of  their  riches.  The  third 
generation  is  ashamed  of  its  burgher  blood  and,  seeking 
to  acquire  the  aristocratic  charm  of  the  former  tyrants, 
plays  the  nobleman.  The  men  appear  in  theatrical 
poses,  a  puffed  cavalier's  cloak  over  their  shoulder; 
they  coquet  with  white  hands  and  adorn  their  breasts 
with  golden  chains.  They  are  perfumed  in  order  not  to 
smell  of  herring;  they  bow  their  heads  with  servile 
gratitude  when  some  foreign  potentate  bestows  upon 


646 


XTbe  iBn^  of  S)utcl3  patntina 


them  a  courtly  title  or  the  honour  of  knighthood.  The 
ladies  are  no  longer  cooks,  but  smile  discreetly  behind 
their  fans.  Books  of  instruction  in  aristocratic  man- 
ners appear.  Courts,  they  say,  are  the  seats  of  cul- 
ture^ and  only  by  travelling  can  young  men  acquire 
the  elegance  and  polish,  the  aptitude  and  charm  which 
distinguish  the  courtier  from  the  bourgeois.  Even 
in  the  style  of  their  letters  and  in  literature  the  em- 
phasis upon  the  courtly  element  may  be  observed.  In 
the  beginnmg  straightforward  and  without  formality, 
the  Dutch  now  address  each  other  with  pompous  titles. 
Upon  the  stage,  which  formerly  produced  Brederoo's 
folk-dramas,  the  "lofty  fates  of  distinguished  persons" 
are  celebrated. 

This  path  from  burgherdom  to  servility  was  also 
followed  by  art.  The  first  symptom  was  the  adapta- 
tion by  Terborg  of  the  Spanish  courtly  style  to  Dutch 
portraiture,  with  the  result  that  the  jolly  merchants 
of  Deventer  assumed  the  *proud  reserve  of  Spanish 
grandees.  It  will  be  remembered  that  Sweerts  added 
eques  to  his  signature.  Wouwerman  painted  bankers' 
sons  fighting  duels  and  riding  forth  with  their  ladies, 
like  young  noblemen,  to  the  falcon  hunt.  Weenix, 
Hondekoeter,  and  de  Heem  treated  still-life  as  if  their 
pictures  were  intended  not  for  burghers'  houses  but 
for  royal  palaces.  Now  the  entire  trend  was  towards 
showy  decoration  or  affected  aesthetics.  The  burgher 
boasted  of  his  classic  culture,  and  even  Catholicism, 
against  which  he  had  formerly  struggled,  found 


Court  Htmospbere  647 


advocates  as  being  the  "religion  of  the  distinguished." 

Gerard  de  Lairesse  in  his  Schilderboek  spoke  the 
word  which  lay  upon  the  lips  of  all.  He  mocks  Hals 
who  had  "sought  the  beautiful  among  fishwives  and 
apple- vendors"  and  demands  of  the  artist  that  he  shall 
acquire  "what  the  fme  world  considers  good  taste." 
This  good  taste,  however,  is  the  courtly  style  of  France; 
Lebrun  is  declared  to  be  the  greatest  of  all  painters, 
and  the  landscapist  is  recommended  to  paint  pictures 
with  "straight  trees,  stately  palaces,  and  graceful 
fountains"— that  is  to  say,  landscapes  in  the  style  of 
Le  Notre.  As  both  painters  and  patrons  have  become 
cavaUers,  the  problem  now  is  to  "ennoble"  art  also;  to 
create  the  grand  style  which  the  antique  and  the 
cinquecento  taught. 

This  need  was  filled  by  the  knight  Adriaen  van  der 
Werff,  who,  with  the  dainty  brush  of  Mieris,  treated 
with  classical  correctness  and  academic  coldness  the 
subjects  of  historical  painting — such  biblical  and 
mythological  themes  as  were  popular  during  the  period 
of  aristocratic  patronage  of  art.  A  son  of  democratic 
and  Protestant  Holland,  raised  to  the  nobility,  painted 
for  a  Catholic  elector,  whose  court  painter  he  was,  the 
mysteries  of  the  Catholic  church.  With  this  ends 
the  tragi-comedy  of  the  first  appearance  of  the  bour- 
geoisie in  art.  In  the  meanwhile,  the  French  invasion 
of  1 672  put  an  end  to  the  world-wide  importance  of  the 
Dutch  state;  the  bourgeoisie  and  their  art  again  bowed 
to  the  sceptre  of  monaichism. 


Cbapter  IDH 
Ube  Hristocratic  Hrt  ot  jfrance 


URING  the  first  half  of  the  seventeenth  century 


France  did  not  yet  possess  an  indigenous  school 


of  painting.  Her  great  painters,  Hke  Poussin 
and  Claude,  lived  at  Rome;  and  the  few  who  were 
active  in  Paris  merely  reflect  the  different  tendencies 
which  prevailed  in  foreign  countries. 

During  his  stay  of  fifteen  years  in  Italy,  Simon  Vouet 
had  become  a  disciple  of  Guido  Reni,  and  continued, 
after  his  return  to  France  in  1627,  to  labour  in  the  same 
Bolognese  style. 

Louis  Le  Nain  seems  to  be  connected  with  the  school 
of  Frans  Hals,  and  it  is  surprising  with  what  seri- 
ous objectivity  he  depicts  the  life  of  the  people.  The 
earliest  of  his  paintings  possessed  by  the  Louvre  is 
entitled  the  Family  of  the  Smith.  A  man  at  the  anvil 
pauses  for  a  moment  in  his  work,  v/hile  his  wife  and 
children  follow  his  glance,  as  if  the  door  were  about  to 
open  and  a  visitor  to  enter.  In  the  second  painting 
a  peasant's  family  sits  at  table:  in  the  foreground,  the 
husband  with  a  woollen  cap  upon  his  head,  raising  his 


age  of  Xouts  fUlD  649 


glass  thoughtfully  to  his  lips,  and  beside  him  his  wife 
who  looks  wearily  up  from  her  work.  A  third  picture, 
the  Return  from  the  Fields,  is  remarkable  from  a  colour- 
istic  point  of  view;  for  no  brown  light  but  the  simple 
hue  of  the  day  is  spread  over  the  landscape.  While 
other  painters  of  his  day  had  selected  jolly  episodes 
from  peasant  life  and  treated  them  as  caricatures 
in  the  spirit  of  the  hamhocciade,  Le  Nain  created  simple 
pictures  of  labourers,  quite  modern  in  charm. 

Philippe  de  Champaigne,  a  born  Fleming,  is  known 
partly  by  religious  pictures,  partly  by  his  portraits. 
The  learned  world  and  the  Jansenist  clergy  were  his 
sitters,  and  this  spirit  of  Jansenism  gave  his  large  pic- 
tures something  cool,  sober,  and  ascetic.  Nuns  in 
ample  white  woollen  robes,  the  cross  of  their  order  upon 
the  heart,  the  veil  upon  the  head,  sit  praying  in  simple 
cells.  Upon  a  straw  stool  lies  a  Bible,  and  a  wooden 
crucifix  hangs  upon  the  wall.  Yellow,  black,  and  brown 
heighten  the  gloomy  effect. 

Eustache  Le  Sueur  depicted  in  the  same  spirit  the 
life  of  the  monk.  His  pictures  of  the  Lije  of  St.  Bruno 
have  not  the  power  to  arrest  the  indifferent  observer 
passing  through  the  halls  of  the  Louvre;  but  if  one 
remains  standing  before  them,  he  feels  the  charm  of 
this  timid,  retiring  art.  In  that  lonesome,  peaceful 
room  it  seems  as  if  a  church  had  been  built  in  the  midst 
of  the  museum,  or  as  if  one  breathed  the  soft,  quiet  air 
of  a  monastic  cell.  Solemn  and  simple  are  the  com- 
positions, unaffected  and  without  exaggeration  the 


650 


ITbe  Hrt  of  jfrance 


attitudes  and  gestures;  and  all  the  colours  are  attuned 
to  brown  or  greenish-white  harmonies,  as  if  he  himself 
had,  like  St.  Bernard,  taken  the  vow  of  poverty  and 
humility.  With  monkish  self-denial  Le  Sueur  avoids 
whatever  charms  the  eye  or  enchants  the  senses.  A 
painter-monk  like  Fra  Angelico  seems  to  have  created 
these  works,  and  one  understands  how  the  person  of 
this  man,  who  lived  so  quietly  and  died  so  young  (at 
the  age  of  thirty-eight) ,  was  easily  encompassed  by  the 
veil  of  legend.  Like  Memling,  it  is  said,  he  had  as  a 
young  man  fallen  in  love  with  a  nun,  become  a  melan- 
cholic, and  ended  as  a  monk  in  a  Carthusian  monastery. 

Sebastien  Bourdon  is  as  wavering  and  versatile  as 
Le  Sueur  is  one-sided.  He  began  as  an  adventurer 
and  ended  as  an  academician;  he  laboured  sometimes 
in  Rome,  sometimes  in  Paris  and  Sweden;  so  also  as  a 
painter  he  appears,  Proteus-like,  under  the  most  varied 
masks.  There  are  decorative  pieces  by  him  which 
might  come  from  the  school  of  Caravaggio,  and  re- 
ligious paintings  in  which  he  is  as  classically  severe  as 
Poussin  himself.  Yet  on  the  other  hand,  he  painted 
portraits,  like  that  of  Descartes,  and  genre-pictures, 
gypsies  and  beggars,  which  prove  a  connection  with 
the  school  of  Caravaggio. 

Salvator  Rosa  and  Michelangelo  Cerquozzi  found  a 
French  counterpart  in  Jacques  Courtois,  called  Le 
Bourguignon.  A  gloomy  sky,  with  bright  yellow 
clouds,  dust  and  powder,  and  fighting  lansquenets- 
such  is  usually  the  content  of  his  pictures. 


Hge  of  %o\x\5  ffllt)  651 


France  indeed  produced  a  number  of  great  person- 
alities, which,  however,  were  less  able  to  form  a  national 
school  because  the  leading  spirits  were,  active  not  in 
Paris  but  in  Rome.  In  order  that  French  art  should 
become  an  organic  whole,  the  centre  of  artistic  activity 
had  to  be  shifted  from  Rome  to  Paris,  and  a  common 
field  of  labour  had  to  be  provided  for  artists.  This 
period  opens  with  Louis  XIV.  This  age  is  called  by 
the  French  le  grand  Steele;  and  in  so  far  as  one  under- 
stands grand  as  identical  with  grandiose,  the  designation 
is  justified.  No  ruler  ever  made  art  more  sub- 
servient to  himself  on  a  more  magnificent  scale ;  no  one 
to  the  same  extent  surrounded  himself  with  pomp 
and  splendour.  Louis  XIV.  is  a  kingly  builder  par 
excellence.  As  Augustus  could  say  of  himself  that  he 
found  his  capital  built  of  brick  and  plaster,  and  left  it 
a  city  of  marble  and  bronze,  so  Louis  conjured  up 
fairy  palaces  from  a  sandy  soil;  not  indeed  at  Paris, 
but  at  Versailles.  As  all  of  his  buildings  demanded 
artistic  decoration,  an  activity  began  upon  such  a  scale 
as  the  world  had  never  before  seen.  As  numerous  as 
formerly  in  little  Holland,  the  painters  sprouted  from 
the  earth.  France,  which  had  previously  for  the  most 
part  supplied  its  need  of  art  from  Italy  and  the  Nether- 
lands, now  provides  other  European  countries  with  art 
and  with  artists. 

To  one  encountering  in  the  galleries  the  works  of  the 
masters  who  gave  their  stamp  to  the  age  of  Louis  XIV., 
they  seem  more  colossal  than  refined,  more  bombastic 


652 


Ube  Hrt  of  ifrance 


than  distinguished.  Among  these  painters  is  van  der 
Meulen,  who  immortaHsed,  in  gigantic  pictures,  the 
king's  military  career,  his  campaigns,  sieges,  parades, 
and  triumphant  entries;  Alexandre  Desportes,  who 
was  employed  to  portray  the  hunting-dogs  of  the  great 
king;  and  Jean  Baptiste  Monnoyer,  in  whose  hands 
even  the  flower  became  solemn,  rigid,  and  typical. 
Others  are  Le  Brun,  Coypel,  Blanchard,  Audran, 
Houasse,  Jouvenet — how  mannered,  pompous,  and  in- 
flated their  works  appear !  Nothing  can  occur  without 
a  great  apparatus.  The  columns  must  be  twisted,  the 
velvet  puffed.  Like  the  Precieuses  ridicules,  they 
seem  to  take  pains  to  express  the  simplest  thing  in  an 
affected  manner  and  with  bombastic  phraseology. 
Biblical  pictures  always  receive  the  same  theatrical 
heads  and  hollow  declaiming  gestures;  and  in  antique 
subjects  the  same  Roman  tragedy  is  always  declaimed 
in  monotonous,  inflated  Alexandrine  verses. 

But  in  the  midst  of  these  imposing  historical  sub- 
jects also  hang  the  portraits  of  Rigaud  and  Largilli^re, 
in  which  one  makes  the  acquaintance  of  the  men 
whom  the  painters  served.  In  self-conscious,  chal- 
lenging dignity,  too  exalted  to  be  ludicrous,  and  in  the 
midst  of  pompous  surroundings,  Louis  XIV.  stands 
before  us.  The  halo  of  a  gigantic  wig  with  heavy 
curled  locks  encircles  his  head ;  an  immense  blue  velvet 
mantle,  embroidered  with  golden  Hlies,  envelops  him; 
and  the  luxurious  showy  frame  is  adorned  with  a  heavy 
golden  crown.    Velasquez,  van  Dyck,  Rigaud — these 


HYACINTHE  RIGAUD 


PORTRAIT  OF  LOUIS  XIV. 

Versailles 


Uqc  of  %o\xi5  f  irit) 


653 


are  the  three  worlds  of  courtly  portraiture.  The 
Spanish  kings  knew  nothing  of  the  world  outside  of  the 
Alcazar;  their  pictures  are  ancestral  portraits  handed 
down  in  the  royal  family.  The  aristocrats  of  van 
Dyck  have  come  into  contact  with  the  common  people. 
Delicate  and  pale,  conversing  only  in  low  tones,  they 
grow  nervous  when  a  loud  or  rude  tone  sounds  in  their 
ear,  and  turn  shuddering  when  their  sleeves  are  in 
danger  of  being  touched  by  a  coarse-grained  commoner. 
Louis  XIV.,  on  the  other  hand,  does  not  show  the 
world  his  blue  blood,  but  his  royal  power;  he  is  not  like 
Charles  I.,  a  nobleman  in  his  attitude  towards  the 
people,  but  a  king  towards  his  subjects.  The  dis- 
tinction which  with  van  Dyck  lies  in  a  pale  complexion, 
white,  blue-veined  hands,  and  fragile  tenderness,  lies 
with  Rigaud  in  the  majestic  pose,  the  flowing  curtains, 
and  the  insignia  of  royalty  which  he  displays.  L'  eiat 
c'est  mot,  Louis  seems  to  say;  and  like  the  king  are 
the  rest.  They  are  portrayed  in  typical  rigidity  and 
solemn  grandeur,  with  that  stately  tread  which  the 
parquetry  of  the  court  demands.  Every  one  assumes 
a  pompous  expression  and  makes  a  significant  gesture 
with  his  hand.  The  ladies  aie  draped  with  a  princely 
mantle  hanging  from  their  shoulders;  the  poet,  en- 
circled with  a  royal  mantle,  leans  with  a  heroic  gesture 
upon  a  lyre;  the  preacher  holds  a  Bible  and  raises  a 
gesticulating  hand;  the  merchant  sits  at  his  desk,  the 
astronomer  at  his  globe.  But  they  are  not  occupied 
with  their  own  thoughts ;  they  turn  to  the  beholder,  as 


654  XTbe  Hrt  of  ifrance 


typical  as  the  king.  As  Louis  XIV.  displays  his  crown, 
so  they  show  the  insignia  of  their  power:  books  which 
they  have  written,  works  of  art  which  they  have 
created,  the  ships  which  they  send  over  the  sea.  Even 
when  they  occasionally  appear  in  neglig(§e,  the  dressing- 
gown  is  of  blue  silk  or  red  velvet.  Even  the  home  life 
of  a  private  individual  is  a  gala  performance,  like  a 
royal  levee.  Be  it  observed,  however,  that  Rigaud 
and  Largilliere  are  not  rhetoricians,  but  the  faithful 
historians  of  their  age.  All  things  that  they  portray— 
swords  and  shoe-buckles,  furs  and  laces,  wigs  and 
fans — they  paint  exactly  after  nature.  If  they  appear 
so  pompous  and  never  unlace  their  buskins,  this  is  not 
to  be  ascribed  to  their  art.  They  paint  as  they  do 
because  the  subjects  themselves  were  pompous,  stilted, 
and  dignified.  It  was  the  age  when  the  spirit  of 
royalism  penetrated  even  into  the  family  and  children 
addressed  their  parents  with  vous,  with  Monsieur  mon 
pere  and  Madame  ma  w^re. 

After  the  examination  of  these  portraits,  the  gallery 
pictures  of  Le  Brun  and  his  associates  also  appear  in  a 
different  light.  For  this  time  the  classic  repose  of 
Poussin  and  the  quiet  sentiment  of  Le  Sueur  were  no 
longer  suitable.  What  art  was  called  upon  to  express 
was  majesty,  rigid  ceremonial,  and  typical  dignity. 
It  must  be  showy,  blending,  and  bombastic  as  the 
sentences  of  Bossuet  and  the  verses  of  Racine;  must 
disguise  the  simple  with  the  sustained  dignity  of 
pompous  generalities.    And  be  it  particularly  noted 


Hge  of  OLouls  f  ID  655 


that  the  picture-gallery  is  in  no  sense  a  home  for  works 
of  this  kind,  because  they  are  only  parts  of  a  great 
decorative  scheme. 

No  one  can  escape  the  imposing  impression  made  by 
the  palace  at  Versailles.  The  building  is  not  planted 
in  the  midst  of  a  beautiful  nature;  the  common  opinion 
that  a  house  should  correspond  with  the  character  of 
the  soil  upon  which  it  stands  is  glibly  disregarded. 
The  king  gives  all  the  more  evidence  of  his  almighty 
power  by  conjuring  a  paradise  from  a  desert  and 
causing  fountains  to  spring  forth  from  a  dry  and  sandy 
soil. 

The  palace  rises  on  artificially  created  soil,  separated 
from  the  common  earth.  Every  stone  proclaims  that 
royalty  dwells  here.  Mighty  stairways  lead  to  the 
wide  halls,  which  gleam  and  glitter  in  golden  splendour. 
Bronze  and  marble  figures,  hermae,  or  atlantes,  fill 
niches  and  cornices,  or  bow  in  homage  to  the  king 
from  the  ceiling.  The  park  is  wide  as  the  horizon,  ex- 
cluding every  common  neighbourhood  from  the  eye. 
Wherever  one  glances,  nature  has  laid  aside  her  power 
and  bowed  to  the  will  of  the  Great  One.  The  straight 
paths,  the  trim  walls  of  foliage,  the  stiff  and  solemn 
rondels — everything  expresses  the  submission  of  free 
and  defiant  nature  to  cultivation  and  rule.  No  tree 
may  grow  as  it  will ;  the  pruning  of  the  gardener  gives 
it  the  form  which  the  king  demands.  No  stream 
flows  where  it  wishes,  but  submitting  to  the  will  of 
the  king,  rises  as  a  column  of  water  towards  heaven  or 


6s6  Zbc  art  of  jfrance 


streams  as  a  cascade  down  white  marble  stairs.  This 
is  the  language  of  royalty  by  the  grace  of  God,  which 
not  only  rules  man  but  subdues  by  the  power  of  his 
sceptre  hill  and  valley,  the  wild  water  and  the  free 
forest.  It  is  the  spirit  of  that  young  Louis  who,  at  the 
age  of  fourteen,  appeared  in  his  parliament  riding-whip 
in  hand.    Suprema  lex  regis  voluntas! 

If  one  imagine  people  suitable  for  this  world — ^gen- 
tlemen with  flowing  wigs  and  gold-embroidered  robes, 
and  ladies  with  high  fontange  and  stiff  silk  dresses 
which  in  long  gleaming  train  sweep  over  the  smoothly 
polished  floor — one  recognises  with  what  truth  and 
power  this  art  reflects  the  spirit  of  the  age.  No  period 
has  to  the  same  extent  proceeded  from  the  conception 
of  the  subordination  of  all  component  parts  to  the 
work  of  art  as  a  whole.  The  style  of  Louis  XIV. 
labours  on  a  grand  scale,  with  buildings  and  gardens, 
with  trees  and  water.  The  palace  with  its  decorated 
columns,  its  gardens,  cascades,  and  statues — all  of  these 
together  form  the  work  of  art,  and  every  single  feature 
is  only  a  decorative  element.  This  must  not  be  over- 
looked in  forming  an  opinion  of  the  painters  of  the 
epoch. 

In  the  halls  of  the  palace,  indeed,  one  experiences  at 
first  only  a  shudder,  because  the  content  of  the  pictures, 
the  deification  of  the  king,  corresponds  so  little  with 
the  sentiment  of  our  own  time.  It  would  also  be  a 
waste  of  time  to  seek  the  individuality  of  the  artist 
behind  the  pictures.    A  man  like  Louis  XIV.  would 


Uqc  ot  Xouis  flit)  657 


tolerate  free  individuality  as  little  as  would  a  captain 
exercising  his  company.  Whether  the  ceilings  are  de- 
corated by  Blanchard  or  Coypel,  by  Houasse,  Audran, 
or  Jouvenet,  these  names  do  not  signify  artistic  person- 
ality. All  submit  to  the  sovereign  will  of  the  king  of 
France  and  his  minister  of  fme  arts.  A  hundred 
painters  are  embodied  in  a  single  artist.  Louis  XIV., 
as  overlord  of  architecture,  sculpture,  painting,  and 
landscape  gardening,  named  Le  Brun  as  commanding 
general  of  the  army  of  painters.  He  leads  the  man- 
oeuvres and  gives  the  orders,  which  are  carried  out  in 
the  proper  spirit  of  subordination.  While  this  is  very 
unedifying  for  psychological  observation,  it  was,  on 
the  other  hand,  just  because  of  this  uniform  direction 
that  Versailles  became  such  an  imposing  work  of  art; 
a  work  which  gives  expression  to  a  whole  epoch,  a 
historical  document. 

Quite  astonishing  is  the  lung-power  of  Le  Brun. 
For  fifty  years  he  succeeded  in  expressing  himself  in 
the  pulpit  style  of  Bossuet  without  ever  losing  breath. 
He  set  all  Olympus  into  motion  praising  the  power 
and  wisdom  of  his  lord :  all  kings  and  heroes  of  the  past 
prostrated  themselves  in  the  dust  before  Louis.  Here 
he  extols  him  in  the  figure  of  Alexander  the  Great; 
there  the  sun-god  Apollo  must  increase  the  fame  of  the 
"Sun  King";  there  again  the  oriental  monarchs 
Nebuchadnezzar  and  Cyrus  do  him  homage.  In  the 
gallery  of  mirrors  the  warlike  career  of  the  king  is 
declaimed  and  embellished  with  pompous  allegories: 
42 


658  XTbe  Hrt  of  ifrance 


the  four  quarters  of  the  earth  and  the  Muses  doing  him 
homage.  It  is  no  less  astonishing  what  an  adept  was 
Le  Brun  in  heightening  the  effect.  The  first  rooms  are 
treated  in  simple  white  and  the  nearer  one  approaches 
to  the  chamber  of  the  king,  the  more  the  splendour 
increases.  Green  marble  alternates  with  gold,  deep 
blue  with  silver;  in  the  last  room,  the  wall  of  which  is 
adorned  with  the  great  relief  of  the  king  on  horseback, 
there  is  only  gold  in  broad  masses  spread  over  mantels, 
doors,  and  windows.  Yet,  with  all  this  bombastic 
servility,  a  great  and  ancient  culture  is  everywhere 
evident.  This  may  be  seen  in  going  from  the  old  parts 
of  the  palace  to  the  new,  in  which  Horace  Vernet  cele- 
brated la  grande  nation  in  an  equally  bombastic  but 
in  a  common  and  banal  manner.  His  pictures  differ 
from  those  of  Le  Brun  as  the  King  with  the  Umbrella 
differs  from  le  Roi  Soleil. 

By  the  side  of  palace  architecture,  in  the  last  years  of 
Louis  XIV.  church-building  assumed  an  important 
role.  For  even  the  king  was  a  man,  and  after  he  had 
emptied  the  cup  of  life  to  the  dregs,  he  felt  the  need  of 
reconciling  himself  with  God.  Madame  de  Maintenon 
influenced  him  in  the  spirit  of  Jesuitic  piety,  and  there 
arose  the  dome  of  the  Invalides  in  Paris,  the  churches  of 
Notre  Dame  and  of  St.  Louis,  and  the  palace  chapel 
at  Versailles — all  works  of  Mansart,  which,  compared 
with  the  ostentatious  Baroque  of  the  palace  of 
Versailles,  indicate  a  return  to  severe  classicism  and 
have  more  in  common  with  Palladio  than  Bernini. 


Spirit  of  tbe  IRococo  659 


Noel  Coypel  was  commissioned  to  decorate  the  dome 
of  the  InvaHdes,  Charles  de  la  Fosse  the  palace  chapel 
of  Versailles.  Pierre  Mignard,  who  after  the  death  of 
Le  Brun  was  entrusted  with  the  decoration  of  all  royal 
undertakings,  painted  a  cupola  fresco  in  the  church 
Val  de  Grace.  And  although  these  pictures  seem 
eclectic  and  his  Madonnas  soft  and  insipid,  he  also 
painted  the  spirited  portrait  of  Marie  Mancini,  the 
niece  of  Mazarin,  which  it  is  impossible  for  any  one  who 
has  stood  before  it  in  the  Berlin  Gallery  to  forget. 

The  age  of  Louis  XIV.  was  a  proud,  rigid,  bombastic, 
and  boastful  age.  Only  gala  performances,  significant 
gestures,  and  representative  splendour  were  popular. 
In  it  the  solemn  grandeur  of  the  Baroque  reached  its 
acme,  and  further  progress  in  this  direction  was  im- 
possible. The  style  of  Louis  XIV.  was  not  only  a 
natural  product  of  the  age,  but  also  the  necessary 
prelude  to  that  which  followed.  Men  had  first  to  grow 
weary  of  gazing  upon  the  powerful  and  imposing  before 
the  grandiose  could  be  followed  by  the  graceful, 
declamation  by  delicacy,  the  sublime  by  the  elegant, 
the  ceremonial  by  the  dainty:  in  short,  the  Baroque 
by  the  Rococo. 

irir.  ^Tbe  Spfrit  of  tbe  IRococo 

There  lies,  according  to  the  legend,  somewhere 
in  this  world,  an  island  called  Cythera,  where 
the  heaven  is  ever  blue  and  the  roses  ever  bloom. 
Throughout  the  day,  the  island  lies  in  repose  like 


66o  Zbc  Hrt  of  ifrance 


a  sleeping  beauty;  but  towards  evening,  when  the  earth 
is  enveloped  in  silence,  a  busy  activity  begins  in 
Cythera.  Then  cupids  begin  their  services  and  make 
ready  the  boats  to  carry  over  the  pilgrims  who  await 
there  on  the  shore.  These  are  young  men  and  beautiful 
women,  clad  not  in  brown  cowls  but  in  silk  and  velvet, 
with  flower-wreathed  shepherds'  staves  in  their  hands. 
When  they  have  entered  the  boat  and  approach  the 
enchanted  island,  all  the  world  is  forgotten.  A  soft, 
sensual  atmosphere  caresses  them;  the  roses  waft 
perfume  and  the  doves  coo.  The  marble  statue  of 
Aphrodite  gleams  in  the  green  foliage,  and  with  beating 
hearts  they  sink  at  the  feet  of  the  goddess.  Such  a 
picture  is  the  glittering  title-page  of  the  art  of  the 
eighteenth  century. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth  century  a  spirit 
of  a  convulsed,  wild  piety  passed  over  the  world.  Af- 
ter the  humanistic  vagaries  of  the  Renaissance  men 
did  penance  in  sackcloth  and  ashes.  Then  came  the 
compromise;  and  the  artists  of  the  Counter-reforma- 
tion, at  first  so  gloomy  and  threatening,  ascribed  in 
Flanders  the  cult  of  the  senses  and  the  pleasures  of  the 
flesh,  "even  to  beings  of  the  other  world."  France 
had  transplanted  the  pomp  of  Baroque  art  from  the 
church  into  the  palace,  and,  instead  of  the  saints,  had 
served  the  Sun  King.  But  finally  the  century  ended 
as  it  had  begun,  for  the  Roi  Soleil  himself  was  frightened 
at  his  resemblance  to  God.  His  unfortunate  wars, 
his  financial  difficulties,  and  the  deaths  in  the  royal 


Spirit  of  tbe  IRococo  66 1 


family  filled  him  with  gloom.  The  noisy  and  glit- 
tering festivities  ceased,  and,  as  is  the  constant 
complaint  of  the  letters  of  Princess  Elizabeth  Char- 
lotte, the  fashion  of  being  joyful  was  discontinued.^ 
In  conjunction  with  Madame  de  Maintenon  the  king 
issued  edicts  of  faith,  had  churches  built  and  masses 
read.  At  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century 
France  had  more  monasteries  than  Italy;  the  number 
of  monks  and  nuns  was  90,000,  and  that  of  the  clergy 
150,000.  Great  pulpit  orators  used  all  the  powers  of 
their  splendid  oratory  to  call  Paris  to  penance.  A  tire- 
some royalty  decreed  piety  and  a  clerical  spirit  bur- 
dened the  land. 

Then  the  Great  King  died,  and  society  breathed 
afresh.  As  the  regent,  Philip  of  Orleans  was  himself 
the  first  to  throw  oflF  the  mask,  it  was  no  longer  neces- 
sary to  pretend  dejected  and  croaking  piety,  and  to 
yawn  behind  the  fans.  The  imprisoned  joy  in  life 
burst  forth  afresh.  There  was  also  money  to  satisfy 
all  desires.  As  long  as  Louis  XIV.  lived,  the  keen  trade 
projects  of  the  speculator  Law  had  remained  plans; 
but  the  Duke  of  Orleans  was  easily  won.  A  series  of 
stock  speculations  and  projects  brought  money  into 
circulation  which  permitted  a  luxury  that  had  formerly 
been  impossible.  As  men  had  prayed,  they  now  wished 
to  enjoy  themselves,  as  they  had  been  bored  they  now 

i  A  German  princess,  the  daughter  of  the  Elector  Palatine  Karl 
Ludwig  and  wife  to  Philip,  Duke  of  Orleans,  brother  of  Louis  XIV. 
Her  letters  to  her  friends  and  relatives  were  edited  by  Bodemann 
(2  vols.,  Hanover  1891). — Ed. 


662  XTbe  Hrt  ot  ffrance 


wished  to  be  merry.  The  portraits  show  that  suddenly 
quite  a  new  race  of  men  appeared  on  the  scene.  There 
were  no  longer  proud  generals,  dignified  archbishops, 
and  ministers  granting  audiences,  but  only  men  of 
fashion  and  elegance.  They  move  about  gallantly, 
speak  gallantly,  smile  gallantly,  and  are  versed  in  the 
most  beautiful  compliments  and  their  effect  upon  the 
fair  sex.  The  features  of  the  portraits  are  no  longer 
dignified  but  soft  and  rosy;  the  pose  is  no  longer  im- 
pressive but  dainty  and  refined;  the  toilette,  formerly 
solemn  and  rigid,  assumes  an  elegant  negligee  and  a 
certain  feminine  character.  Velvet  and  silk  in  all 
shades,  laces  about  the  neck  and  on  cuffs,  embroideries 
in  gold,  silver,  and  silk  are  worn,  even  by  old  gentlemen. 
All  are  as  lithe  and  slender,  as  effeminate  and  eternally 
young,  as  charming  and  redolent  with  the  perfume 
of  roses,  as  if  they  were  no  longer  men  but  grown-up 
cupids. 

Even  more  conspicuous  is  the  change  in  women. 
The  ladies  at  the  close  of  the  seventeenth  century,  in 
their  stiff  whalebone  corsets,  have  an  Olympian 
grandeur,  like  that  of  Juno.  The  figure  is  majestic,  and 
full,  gleaming  shoulders  and  fine  arms  emerge  from 
ermine  mantles.  But  they  are  also  unfeminine,  un- 
approachable, and  dignified,  the  type  of  Louis  XIV. 
and  of  the  Great  Elector  translated  into  womanhood. 
The  mouth  is  firmly  closed,  the  brow  energetic  and 
virile,  the  eye  glances  firmly,  cold  as  metal,  from  under 
the  hard  brows ;  the  hands  are  plump  and  expressionless. 


Spirit  of  tbe  TRococo  663 


These  are  women  like  the  proud  Montespan,  at  the 
sight  of  whom  Hebbel  cried,  ''Such  a  woman  could  be 
loved  only  by  a  king/'    Now  there  are  no  longer 
women  of  majestic  beauty.    If  they  then  seemed  forty 
years  old,theyare  now  either  under  twenty  or  oversixty. 
If  they  then  sought  to  impress  by  their  fulness  of  form, 
they  are  now  ethereal  beings  who  are  animated  only 
by  spirit  and  piquancy.   The  figures,  then  powerful, 
have  become  delicate  and  Ught;  the  faces,  once  proud, 
are  now  childish,  and  no  longer  painted  or  powdered 
white.    The  lines  of  the  mouth  have  lost  their  proud 
seriousness,  and  curve  in  soft  mischief  or  in  a  delicate 
lovable  smile.    The  bust  has  lost  its  fulness  and  is  only 
lightly  revealed  under  a  silken  bodice.    Even  the 
jewelry  is  different:  the  heavy  rings  and  chains  which 
were  formerly  worn  give  place  to  dainty  filigree-work. 
The  taste  for  the  imposing  is  followed  by  the  taste  for 
graceful  charm,  unapproachable  indifference  by  neat- 
ness and  seductiveness;  the  dignified  by  the  coquettish, 
and  bodily  by  spiritual  beauty. 

The  life  of  these  people  also  stands  in  sharp  contrast 
to  that  of  the  past.  Then  the  king  was  the  centre 
about  which  all  revolved.  The  idea  of  unqualified 
autocracy  went  so  far  that  Louis's  own  brother  must 
remain  standing  in  his  presence.  This  solemn  court 
ceremony  dominated  the  world.  Men  either  went  to 
church  to  gain  the  favour  of  Madame  de  Maintenon  or 
they  moved  about  in  dignified  rigidity,  doing  homage 
to  the  king  in  the  gorgeous  halls  of  the  palace  at 


664  XTbe  Hrt  of  jfrancc 


Versailles.  Now  Louis  XIV/s  dictum,  "I  am  the 
state,"  is  supplanted  by  another:  "The  aristocracy  is 
humanity."  The  change  which  at  the  end  of  the 
century  terminated  in  open  popular  rebellion  began 
as  a  palace  revolution.  Formerly  collected  about  the 
royal  throne,  the  aristocracy  now  follows  its  own 
paths. 

There  are  two  places  where  they  never  go — to  church 
and  to  court.  The  religious  enthusiasm  which  had 
risen  in  the  seventeenth  century  is  dead.  As  if  to  solace 
themselves  for  the  years  lost  under  Louis  XIV.,  men 
now  coquette  with  atheism.  As  early  as  17  lo,  Tyssot 
de  Patot  wrote  his  romance,  Voyages  et  aventures  de 
Jaques  Masse,  in  which  he  speaks  of  Christ  as  of 
Mohammed  or  Confucius.  Later  Natoire,  the  director 
of  the  French  Academy  at  Rome,  was  removed  from  his 
post  on  account  of  his  "exaggerated  piety."  The 
century  of  religious  wars  was  followed  by  the  century 
which  permitted  every  one  to  be  saved  in  his  own 
fashion;  the  age  of  the  last  saints  by  that  of  the  clever 
mockers  who  believed  neither  in  heaven  nor  in  hell. 

"Ci  git  dans  une  paix  profonde 
Cette  Dame  de  volupte, 
Qui  pour  plus  giande  surete 
Fit  son  paradis  de  ce  monde  ": 

thus  reads  the  light  epitaph  of  the  Marquise  de  Bouf- 
flers,  and  these  words  may  be  written  upon  most 
gravestones  of  the  eighteenth  century.  As  men  had 
formerly  striven  for  the  heavenly  paradise,  they  now 
enjoyed  life  in  full  draughts  and  died  with  a  joyful  con- 


Spirit  of  tbe  IRococo  665 


sciousness  of  having  enjoyed  it.  As  George  Sand's 
grandmother  once  related  to  her:  "Your  grandfather 
was  handsome,  elegant,  carefully  attired,  delicate,  per- 
fumed, active,  lovable,  tender,  and  joyful  until  his 
death.  At  that  time  there  was  no  repulsive  bodily 
pain;  one  preferred  to  die  at  a  ball  or  in  the  theatre 
rather  than  in  one's  bed  among  four  wax  tapers  and 
ugly,  black-gowned  men.  We  enjoyed  life,  and  when 
the  time  came  to  leave  it  no  one  sought  to  deprive 
others  of  their  pleasure  in  it.  The  last  farewell  of  my 
husband  consisted  in  his  bidding  me  to  survive  him 
long  and  to  enjoy  life."  Those  who  had  not  lived 
before  1789,  wrote  Talleyrand,  did  not  know  the  sweet- 
ness of  life. 

Men  now  fled  from  the  suffocating  court  life  to  a 
joyous  Arcadia,  from  the  halls  of  the  palace  into  nature. 
If  formerly  the  typical  had  prevailed,  the  constraint 
of  rigid  etiquette,  men  now  loved  the  laisser-aller  and 
yearned  for  harmless  pleasure.    More  beautiful  than 
gaudy  palaces  seemed  the  thatched  cottage  which 
might  be  bought  in  the  country;  more  beautiful  than 
the  formal  gardens  of  Le  Notre,  the  woods  and  the 
fields  where  the  cowbells  tinkled,  the  dairies  with  their 
poultry  yards,  and  the  pigeon  cote.   They  reclined  at 
their  ease  in  the  meadows,  along  the  brooks,  and  in  the 
woodland  glades,  arranged  hals  champetres  and  de- 
jeuners sur  I'  herhe,  and  danced  graceful  gavottes 
and  sportive  minuets.    They  hastened  to  the  neighbour- 
ing village  where  the  peasants  gathered  for  the  yearly 


666  XTbe  Hrt  of  jfrance 


market.  The  formal  court  dress  was  laid  aside,  the 
wig  disappeared,  and,  in  dainty  peasant  costumes,  they 
played  at  being  peasants,  shepherds,  and  shepherdesses. 
In  1697  Louis  XIV.  had  closed  the  Italian  theatre  be- 
cause the  actors  ventured  remarks  upon  Madame  de 
Maintenon.  The  regent  re-opened  the  Italian  comedy 
in  17 16,  and  these  comedies  became  an  important  part 
in  the  programme  of  the  pleasures  of  distinguished 
society.  The  time  was  passed  in  balls,  theatrical  per- 
formances, musical  evenings,  and  especially  with 
masks.  Not  only  were  the  actors  of  the  Comedie 
Fran<;aise,  the  Comedie  Italienne,  and  the  Opera  often 
ordered  to  appear  in  the  Palais  Royal;  even  the  rope- 
dancers  were  considered  presentable.  The  young  men 
took  lessons  from  the  actors,  and  the  ladies  studied 
with  them  pieces  which  they  produced  upon  the  stage. 
It  was  so  jolly  and  offered  such  material  for  dainty 
intrigues  and  gallant  experiences  to  wear  the  gay 
spangles  of  Pierrot  and  Colombine. 

Like  etiquette  they  also  avoided  scrupulous  modesty 
because  it  appeared  pedantic.  Marriage  was  considered 
a  picture  in  grey  whose  monochrome  must  be  en- 
livened by  rosy  tones.  "What  a  tiresome  creature 
this  Julie  must  be,"  wrote  Madame  de  Pompadour 
after  a  perusal  of  Rousseau's  Nouvelle  Heloise.  At  that 
time  Paris  became  the  magic  city  where  the  nabobs  of 
the  whole  world  assembled,  the  island  of  Cythera  where 
every  one  who  brought  money,  spirit,  and  love  of  life 
would  be  received.    Even  sensuality  now  assumed  a 


Spirit  of  tbe  IRococo  667 

new  aspect.  In  the  grand  siecle,  which  only  recognised 
the  powerful  and  pathetic,  it  had  been  a  great  passion, 
which  Rubens  had  painted  brutal  and  animal.  Now 
the  nerves  had  become  tired,  and  could  endure  only 
discreet  and  delicate  excitement.  So  the  eighteenth 
century,  which  loved  only  little  things,  made  love  a 
flirtation.  "Great  passions,"  wrote  Mercier,  "are 
nowadays  rare.  Men  no  longer  fight  duels  for  women, 
and  we  see  no  forsaken  lover  seeking  by  poison  to  escape 
his  suffering."  What  was  formerly  said  with  sobs  and 
sighs  is  now  said  chattingly  in  light  conversation. 
There  is  no  glowing  desire,  no  impetuous  passion  but 
artificial  courting,  flattering  and  homage,  wooing  and 
languishing.  A  piquant  smile  takes  the  place  of  hearty 
laughter  and  pastoral  play  supplants  the  former 
coarseness. 

New  people  need  a  new  art.  The  great  change  in 
culture  which  took  place  at  the  beginning  of  the 
century  was  also  accompanied  by  a  clear,  far-reaching 
aesthetic  revolution.  Formerly  the  heroic  Corneille  and 
the  classically  severe  Racine  had  dominated  Hterature. 
These  pompous  and  solemn  stylists,  who  stalked  about 
majestically,  were  now  followed  by  clever  prattlers  who, 
in  spicy  and  charming  tones,  without  ever  growing 
coarse,  spoke  of  love  and  nothing  but  love.  As  the 
nervous  temperament  of  the  age  was  no  longer  pleased 
with  the  perpetual  recurrence  of  iron  measures,  the 
tyrannical  rhythms  of  the  Alexandrine  verse  dis- 
appeared and  the  reverberating  periods  of  Boileau 


668  ube  Hrt  of  ifrance 


vanished  in  a  dazzling  display  of  wit  and  humour. 
In  letters  a  mischievous  grace  replaced  bombast.  The 
Amadis,  the  Robinsons,  and  the  popular  romances 
whose  scene  is  laid  in  China  are  characteristic  of  the 
arcadian  trend  of  the  age.  The  natural,  innocent,  and 
free — all  that  was  missed  at  home — ^was  sought  in 
distant  lands,  upon  lonely  islands  or  in  the  land  of  Con- 
fucius. For  to  the  Chinese  they  were  bound  by  an  es- 
pecial tie  of  interest;  since  to  them  they  owed  the  tea, 
the  new  drink  which  was  so  popular  in  the  eighteenth 
century.  At  the  same  time  the  Celestials  were  consid- 
ered a  happy  people  in  a  state  of  nature,  who,  free 
from  courtly  constraint,  lived  a  paradisiac  life  upon 
the  shores  of  the  Pacific. 

Parallel  with  this  change  in  literature  a  change 
occurred  in  art.  Architecture,  which  in  the  seventeenth 
century  had  built  extensive  churches  and  royal  palaces, 
now  creates  dainty  residences  and  country-seats.  The 
nobility,  heretofore  bound  to  Versailles,  now  builds 
its  own  quarters.  The  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  and 
the  villas  about  Paris  were  constructed,  and  in  a  style 
the  opposite  of  all  that  formerly  prevailed.  As  in  life 
everything  pompous  and  heroic,  so  also  in  architecture 
everything  ponderous  must  be  avoided.  Majesty  was 
followed  by  daintiness,  and  show  by  comfort.  The 
rooms  are  smaller,  and  serve  the  purpose  no  longer 
of  show  but  of  comfort  or  of  the  refined  enjoyment  of 
life.  Instead  of  living  in  the  formal,  glittering  halls 
reserved  for  especial  festivities,  they  lived,  loved,  and 


Spirit  of  tbe  IRococo  669 


chatted  in  little  salons  and  boudoirs.  From  the 
panelled  walls  the  last  vestiges  of  constructive  elements 
disappear:  for  nothing  rigid  or  massive  was  permitted 
to  disturb  the  gracefulness.  As  they  who  had  so  long 
borne  the  oppression  of  royalty  now  made  themselves 
free,  so  also  they  released  the  architectural  supporting 
members  of  their  functions,  and  transformed  them 
into  jolly  people,  who  joyfully  and  without  trouble, 
for  politeness's  sake,  played  the  role  of  caryatids. 
Ornament  also,  which  had  formerly  shown  measured 
dignity,  now  received  the  free  and  easy  movement  of 
life;  those  flowing  forms,  those  charming  informalities 
with  which  the  man  of  the  world  places  himself  above 
the  rules  of  etiquette.  Flowers  and  arabesques,  thyrsi 
and  shepherds'  staves,  glasses  and  grapes,  fauns  and 
nymphs  are  commingled  in  joyful,  trifling  playfulness. 
Even  the  unsymmetrical  character  of  the  Rococo  has 
a  psychological  explanation.  The  people  who  had 
been  so  long  compelled  to  live  according  to  fixed  rules 
now  took  such  pleasure  in  the  unrestrained  and  the 
capricious  that  they  intentionally  avoided  the  principle 
of  all  former  laws  of  beauty,  viz.,  symmetry,  and 
searched  for  everything  which  in  wanton  humour  mocks 
at  regularity. 

Furniture  in  the  seventeenth  century  had  been  mon- 
umental and  pompous,  as  if  it  all  came  from  the  halls 
of  the  palace  of  Versailles;  it  now  became  light  and 
coquettish,  dainty  and  small,  as  if  it  were  all  intended 
for  a  lady's  boudoir.    Comfortable  upholstered  chairs 


670  Zbc  Hrl  ot  jfrance 


and  soft,  yielding  sofas  covered  with  silken  cushions 
took  the  place  of  the  stiffly  painted,  straight-lined 
armchairs.  Japanese  screens  and  Chinese  pagodas, 
Sevres  vases  and  dainty  clocks  are  scattered  over 
mantles,  tables,  and  consoles.  Soft  and  fragrant  per- 
fumes, such  as  vanilla  and  heliotrope,  fill  the  air;  a 
luxurious  feminine  spirit  pervades  everything. 

Sculpture,  which  in  the  seventeenth  century  had 
been  colossal,  now  becomes  a  miniature  art,  which  no 
longer  peoples  churches  and  gardens  with  monumental 
groups  but  nestles  in  the  salon  and  the  boudoir.  Its 
principal  materials  are  no  longer  stone,  marble,  and 
bronze  but  gold,  silver,  faience,  and  porcelain.  The 
porcelain  statuettes  in  particular  signify  for  the  art  of 
the  eighteenth  century  what  the  terra-cottas  did  for 
the  Greek  art.  The  relief,  formerly  boldly  cut,  is 
now  carved  in  soft  and  delicate  outlines. 

From  this  it  is  evident  what  character  painting  was 
forced  to  adopt  in  order  to  harmonise  with  its  sur- 
roundings: for,  Hke  art  under  Louis  XIV.,  the  Rococo 
must  also  be  regarded  as  a  whole.  Indeed,  there 
never,  perhaps,  existed  a  style  in  which  everything 
formed  such  a  harmonious  part  of  a  clever  ensemble. 

It  is  in  the  first  place  characteristic  that  artistic 
productions  decreased.  An  epoch  so  spirituelle  as  the 
Rococo  preferred  also  the  least  material  of  the  arts — 
music.  This  was  the  prevailing  art  of  the  age,  and  to 
her  painters  did  homage  in  numerous  allegories. 
The  form    of  the  pictures    had  also  to  change. 


Spirit  of  tbe  IRococo  671 


As  the  seventeenth  century  chose  the  colossal,  so  the 
eighteenth  preferred  the  dainty.  Monumental  tasks 
in  great  historic  style  were  no  longer  assigned,  or 
else  executed  by  artists  who  survived  from  the  time 
of  Louis  XIV.  The  younger  artists,  hostile  to  all 
grandiose  undertakings,  created  their  daintiest  works 
in  fans,  piano  decorations,  and  screens.  Even  in 
panel  painting  a  diminution  of  size  appeared;  for  the 
full  length  was  considered  crude,  and  only  small  and 
dainty  proportions  were  permissible.  Another  conse- 
quence of  the  love  of  the  unsymmetrical  was  the  popu- 
lar practice  of  giving  a  curious,  irregular  form  to  the 
pictures. 

It  was  all  over  with  reUgious  painting.  All  the  pious 
martyrs  and  ecstatic  Madonnas  which  were  painted  in 
the  seventeenth  century  had  nothing  to  say  to  this  age. 
Ancient  and  rigid  Venice,  is  the  only  surviving  city 
where  important  religious  pictures  still  originated. 
Otherwise  only  such  decorations  occur  which,  in 
accordance  with  the  free-thinking  trend  of  the  age,  are 
connected  with  Nathan  the  Wise's  story  of  the  rings, 
that  is  to  say  the  theme  of  the  equal  value  of  all  re- 
ligions. One  picture  from  the  Bible  is  especially 
popular:  Sara  Leading  the  fair  Hagar  to  her  Husband 
Abraham.  The  whole  spirit  of  the  Rococo  is  expressed 
in  such  a  work. 

After  they  had  come  to  the  point  of  making  life 
pleasant,  they  wished  to  see  only  pictures  which  pro- 
claimed this  gospel  of  jo3^ul,  sensual  pleasure.  Having 


672  XTbe  Btt  of  Jfrance 


freed  themselves  from  the  bonds  of  etiquette,  they  also 
demanded  of  painting  that  it  should  be  lively  and 
clever  and  reflect  in  elegant  lines  and  dainty  colours 
the  life  which  they  saw  about  them,  or  as  they  dreamed 
it.  The  theme  of  the  works  is  therefore  the  same  which 
Rubens  treated  in  his  Love  Gardens,  except  that  the 
place  of  his  full-blooded  voluptuous  women  is  taken 
by  dainty  ladies  with  thin  wasp-waists,  and  that  the 
coarse,  grasping  Flemings  are  replaced  by  slender 
cavaliers  with  gallant  manners.  When  they  drank 
Chinese  tea  from  Chinese  cups,  they  also  loved  to  see 
the  Chinese  in  painting.  Conscious  of  guilt  they  loved 
to  dream  of  childhood's  happy  days ;  tired  of  the  city, 
they  dreamed  of  rustic  idylls — not  the  peasant  who  in 
hard  work  wins  his  nourishment  from  the  soil;  but 
the  countryman  of  romance,  a  happy  being  who  leads 
an  ethereal  existence  in  the  open  air. 

Since  not  the  coarse  but  the  delicate,  not  the  passion- 
ate but  the  discreet,  not  the  loud  but  the  quiet  is 
presentable  in  the  salon,  so  all  obtrusive  effects  of 
colour  are  avoided.  The  age  of  Louis  XIV.  loved 
showy  pomp ;  a  bright  blue  and  red  in  combination  with 
gold  were  the  favourite  colours  of  the  king  who  de- 
termined the  costumes  of  his  subjects  and  the  taste 
of  the  painters.  In  the  decoration  of  rooms  also,  gold 
and  pompous  red,  brown  wood  and  dark  gobelins  pre- 
vailed. The  eighteenth  century  in  its  over-refmed 
daintiness  found  that  such  colours  distress  the  eye  and 
used  only  light,  soft,  and  broken  tones.   The  loud 


Spirit  of  tbe  IRococo  673 


fanfares  of  an  earlier  day  are  changed  into  a  soft 
colourature,  and  the  shrill  sounds  of  the  brass  in- 
struments are  followed  by  the  wooing,  insinuating 
notes  of  the  flute.    The  white  tone  of  porcelain  was 
especially  popular,  and  determined  the  colour  of  the 
decoration  of  rooms  as  well  as  the  tone  of  paintings. 
As  they  were  so  fond  of  being  out-of-doors  they  also 
loved  to  see  the  salon  flooded  by  the  bright  light  of  day. 
High  windows  reaching  to  the  floor  gave  light  to  the 
rooms.   The  walls  were  tinted  white;  the  gobelins,  the 
silk  window-curtains,  the  wood  and  upholstery  of  the 
furniture  were  bright  and  light  in  colour.  Mirrors 
scattered  throughout  the  room  also  had  the  purpose  of 
increasing  the  light.    Even  the  former  popular  gold 
ornamentation  frequently  yields  to  silver.    In  these 
white  rooms,  pervaded  by  the  light  of  day  or  by  the 
candle-light  of  Venetian  chandeliers,  the  cool  silvery 
tones  of   high-keyed   painting  were  alone  suitable. 
Dainty  harmonies  of  dull  yellow,  light  blue,  pink  and 
lilac,  greyish  blue,  greyish  yellow,  and  dull  green  be- 
came especially  popular.    The  artists  also  endeavoured 
to  free  oil  painting  from  its  fatty  and  heavy  qualities ; 
and  as,  notwithstanding  their  efforts,  this  was  not  alto- 
gether possible,  new  technical  processes,  like  pastel 
painting,  were  invented.   The  pastel  alone  solved  the 
problem  of  relieving  figures  of  all  earthly  heaviness, 
and  could  perfectly  present  these  evanescent,  flower- 
like natures  with  the  rustling  silk  robes  and  powdered 
hair. 


674  XTbe  Hrt  of  ifrance 


"Sieh  meinen  feinen  Flugelstaub, 
Ich  flattere  und  fliege," — 

such  is  the  beginning  of  a  Rococo  song,  which  also 
characterises  the  nature  of  Rococo  painting.  Ihe 
pictures  are  pale  as  the  complexion  of  the  people. 
They  have  a  touch  of  the  ethereal,  just  as  men  had 
themselves  been  transformed  from  heavy  and  full- 
blooded  into  light  and  ethereal  beings.  The  age  of 
highest  development  of  power  was  followed  by  one  of 
the  highest  refinement,  the  century  of  passion  and 
majestic  grandeur  by  one  of  grace  and  elegance.  It  is 
no  accident  that  France  assumed  the  leading  position 
during  this  epoch.  The  individual  nations  have  always 
found  an  artistic  expression  at  the  moment  when  the 
spirit  of  the  time  and  the  spirit  of  the  nation  are  in 
unison.  As  in  the  seventeenth  century  gloomy  Spain 
had  been  the  leading  country,  now  when  the  Coun- 
ter-reformation was  followed  by  a  new  ebullition  of 
sensuality,  France  placed  itself  at  the  head,  and  suc- 
ceeded in  accomplishing  what  since  Foucquet's  Ma- 
donna and  the  novels  of  the  Parisian  Boccaccio 
seem  to  have  been  the  destiny  of  the  French.^ 

Hirir.  TKflatteau 

His  first  pictures  create  more  of  a  Flemish  than  a 
French  impression.    One  awaits  fetes  galantes  and 

»  The  picture  in  the  Antwerp  Gallery  referred  to  represents  the 
Madonna  with  the  features  of  Agnes  Sorel,  the  mistress  of  Charles 
Vl!.,  suckling  the  Child,    Although  Boccaccio  was  born  in  Paris, 


Matteau 


675 


hymns  to  love,  but  their  content  is  scenes  from 
soldier  and  camp  life. 

Watteau's  youth  fell  in  the  time  of  the  war  of  the 
Spanish  Succession.  As  the  Netherlands,  his  home, 
were  the  scene  of  a  motley  military  life,  he  began  with 
scenes  like  those  painted  by  the  Dutch  in  the  age  of 
Fians  Hals.  In  a  picture  of  the  Rothschild  collection 
recruits  march  over  a  plain  under  a  heavy  storm;  in 
others  he  groups  soldiers  and  market-women,  waggons 
and  tents  in  the  midst  of  Flemish  landscapes.  From 
such  representations  of  military  life  he  proceeds  to 
similar  scenes  of  peasant  life.  In  his  picture  True 
Gaiety  a  couple  dances  in  front  of  a  tavern,  while  upon 
an  upturned  tub  sits  a  man  playing  a  violin.  In 
another  picture  a  group  of  peasants  are  drinking  before 
a  tavern,  and  others  stagger  homewards.  All  are 
genuine  Flemish  paintings ;  a  new  Teniers  seems  to  have 
appeared.  But  the  women  are  of  a  different  race. 
With  their  white  bodices  and  clean  aprons,  their  elegant 
motions  and  dainty  heads,  they  have  something  tidy 
and  graceful  which  does  not  belong  to  Teniers's  art. 

Yet  one  has  no  idea  that  this  peasant-painter  is 
destined  to  become  a  master  of  the  graces.  Not  until 
he  had  returned  to  Paris  did  his  themes  change.  In 
place  of  the  boors,  elegant  French  society  appears. 

of  a  French  mother  and  a  Florentine  father,  his  early  boyhood 
was  passed  in  Florence,  and  at  fifteen  he  was  in  Naples.  He  can 
therefore  scarcely  be  called  a  Parisian,  nor  can  the  spicy  character  of 
his  literary  work  be  considered  a  French  characteristic. — Ed. 


676  ^be  Hrt  of  jfrance 


Different  pictures  reveal  how  gradually  the  change 
was  accomplished.  A  composition  which  only  exists 
in  a  print  shows  a  gondolier  upon  a  placid  canal. 
The  coarse-grained  Flemish  figures  have  become  grace- 
ful and  distinguished;  and  only  the  background,  with 
its  canals  and  palaces,  is  still  in  the  manner  of  the 
panoramas  of  cities  by  Jan  van  der  Heyden.  The 
same  is  true  of  the  picture  called  the  Promenade  upon 
the  Walls:  distinguished  ladies  and  chatting  young 
gentlemen,  but  in  the  background  massive  towers  and 
symbols  of  quite  a  Netherlandish  character.  There 
follows  the  picture  of  the  Shepherds  in  the  New  Palace 
at  Potsdam:  in  the  foreground  a  young  couple  for 
whom  an  old  shepherd  plays  the  music  for  a  dance; 
round  about  maidens  looking  at  the  dance  and  a 
gentleman  swinging  a  lady.  Then  come  the  repre- 
sentations which  are  known  by  the  names  of  The 
Seductive  Offer,  Recreation,  Le  jaux  pas,  L'amour 
paisible,  La  mariee  de  village,  Assemhlee  galante,  and 
Lefon  d' amour — the  originals  almost  all  in  the  royal 
palace  at  Berlin,  where  they  were  placed  by  Frederick 
the  Great.  If  these  works,  notwithstanding  the  Rococo 
costume,  still  show  a  certain  Flemish  heaviness,  in  the 
subject  which  in  17 17  he  presented  as  a  diploma  paint- 
ing to  the  Academy,  all  ties  are  broken  which  had  bound 
him  to  his  home.  It  is  the  Embarkation  for  the  Island 
of  Cythera,  that  painting  of  the  Louvre,  in  which  the 
dream  of  a  whole  generation  takes  form.  Watteau 
treated  the  theme  a  second  time  in  the  painting  of  the 


Matteau 


677 


palace  at  Berlin,  which  is  even  more  jubilant  than  the 
Louvre  picture.  The  boat  which  bears  the  pilgrim  to 
the  enchanted  island  has  become  a  frigate  with  flutter- 
ing rosy  sails.  Cupids  climb  up  the  mast,  fire  their 
arrows  at  the  people,  and  bind  the  fair  ones  with  chains 
of  roses.  In  the  few  years  which  he  had  still  to  live, 
there  followed  all  those  works  which  treat  the  same 
theme — ^joy  in  life  and  love — in  the  ever-new  variations : 
Boccaccio's  Decameron  in  the  garb  of  the  Rococo. 

Young  men  in  silk  and  velvet,  a  guitar  slung  by  a 
broad,  red  ribbon  over  the  shoulder,  wander  aim- 
lessly about,  and  pay  court  to  beautiful  women:  here 
in  the  woods,  there  upon  the  meadow  or  in  the  village, 
but  never  in  the  city  or  in  the  vicinity  of  the  palace. 
They  know  no  hunger,  no  labour,  no  cares;  for  fairies 
have  given  them  all  that  they  need:  their  satin  shoes, 
their  music  books.their  shepherds' staffs,  and  mandoHns. 
The  women  are  children  of  the  same  enchanted  Elysian 
world.  From  blue  eyes  whose  peace  is  destroyed  by 
no  passion,  they  gaze  at  their  admirers ;  they  carry  lace 
fans  and  wear  dull  red,  violet,  or  yellow  silk  dresses ; 
their  slender  arms  and  hands  with  long  white  fmgers 
and  rosy  nails  gleam  among  fme  laces.  Nothing 
happens  in  these  pictures;  they  only  sing  and  play, 
speak  and  laugh.  Pleasant  embraces,  tender  glances, 
and  gallant  words  are  exchanged.  Here  a  gentleman 
offers  a  lady  his  hand  in  order  to  conduct  her  up  a 
few  marble  steps ;  there  they  dance  the  gavotte  or  play 
blind-man's  buff,  or  young  maidens  gather  white  roses 


678  XTbe  Hrt  of  ffrance 


in  their  aprons ;  there  again  a  gentleman  with  his  lady 
leaves  the  company,  and  they  recline  upon  the  shore  of 
a  little  lake,  behind  a  tree  or  low  shrubbery.  Mis- 
chievously laughing,  pouting,  or  slightly  offended,  half 
promising,  half  granting,  the  ladies  accept  the  homage 
of  their  cavaliers.  Their  eyes  sparkle,  and  tremblingly 
they  breathe  the  atmosphere  of  love  with  which  they 
are  surrounded.  And  when  it  grows  darker  the  gay 
company  dissolves.  The  chatting  couples  disappear, 
the  song  and  the  sound  of  the  guitar  are  silent,  and 
only  sweet,  stammering,  whispering  words  are  heard. 

Occasionally  instead  of  the  silken  shepherd-costume 
that  of  the  theatre  is  worn,  although  Watteau  is  not 
therefore  the  painter  of  clowns  and  wandering  comed- 
ians. True,  some  of  the  paintings,  like  Pierrot  of  the 
Louvre,  seem  portraits  of  actors,  and  in  others  like 
Love  in  the  Italian  and  Love  in  the  French  Theatre  scenes 
from  comedies  are  depicted.  But  most  of  such  pic- 
tures are  fetes  galantes.  The  distinguished  ladies  and 
gentlemen  have  only  assumed  the  costume  of  the  Ital- 
ian actors,  and  use  Pierrot's  white  linen.  Harlequin's 
gay  silk,  and  Scaramouche's  gallant  mantle  to  bring 
variety  into  their  pastoral  plays.  When  evening  comes 
a  motley  procession  of  masks  swarms  through  the  park. 
Bright  torches  throw  their  light  upon  grotesquely 
disguised  figures,  who  seem  to  have  ascended  from  the 
kingdom  of  Lucifer,  and  yet  are  only  lovers  seeking 
their  sweethearts. 

For  these  people  Watteau  created  a  nature  in  which 


Matteau 


679 


they  belonged.  As  his  landscapes  have  little  in  com- 
mon with  the  formal  gardens  of  Le  Notre,  they  resemble 
actuality  just  as  httle.  There  are  no  clouds  in  them, 
no  wild  underbrush,  no  abrupt  cliffs.  Mighty  trees 
stretch  their  crowns,  as  if  protectingly,  over  the  couples ; 
soft  sods  invite  them  to  repose;  roses, daisies,  and  butter- 
cups bloom  in  the  midst  of  the  woods  in  order  that 
gentlemen  may  pick  them  and  wind  them  into  bou- 
quets. Elder  and  jasmine  waft  their  odour  from  the 
hedges;  in  the  air  the  butterflies  dance  a  noiseless 
minuet,  springs  and  cascades  murmur  near  by,  as  if  to 
prevent  the  love-whispers  from  being  heard.  Here  a 
swing  is  hung,  there  naked  marble  statues — cupids,  an 
Antiope,  a  Venus,  a  goat-footed  satyr  seizing  a  flying 
nymph,  Apollo  pursuing  Daphne — peep  from  the  green 
foliage,  tempting  mortals  to  similar  pranks.  Not  Pan, 
but  Cupid  bears  the  sceptre  in  this  world.  The  scene 
of  all  these  paintings  is  the  isle  of  Cythera,  where  the 
roses  ever  bloom  and  the  nightingales  pipe,  where  all 
the  trees  murmur  and  whisper  of  happiness  and  love. 

The  colours  also  are  different  from  those  of  this 
world.  Watteau  required  a  long  time  to  find  the  real 
expression  of  his  feeling  for  colour.  His  first  pictures 
show  a  connection  with  the  older  masters — the  bright 
luminosity  of  Rubens  or  the  warm  gold  of  Titian. 
But  after  the  Emharknient  for  Cythera  his  colour-scheme 
is  also  independent.  If  one  hears  a  brass  instrument 
with  Rubens,  the  full  tones  of  the  organ  with  Titian, 
with  Watteau  one  listens  to  the  vanishing  sound  of  the 


680  ^be  Hrt  of  jfrance 


flute  or  the  tender,  quivering,  silvery  tone  of  the  violin. 
The  softened,  morbidly  refined  colour  corresponds  with 
the  ethereal  charm  of  the  figures.  The  earth  lies  in 
repose,  bathed  in  mild  splendour,  and  the  light  green 
tree-tops  move  tremulously  in  the  soft  air.  The  hour 
of  sunset,  when  all  is  wrapped  in  the  silvery  mist  of 
twilight,  is  Watteau's  favourite  hour.  At  the  portal  of 
the  eighteenth  century,  he  created  the  most  exquisite 
work  which  the  century  produced  and  directed  art 
into  the  paths  in  which  it  moved  for  fifty  years  to 
come. 

How  is  it  that  Watteau  was  the  first  to  depict 
Parisian  elegance?  There  seems  to  be  an  inexplicable 
contradiction  between  his  art  and  his  life.  For  he  was 
never  a  Frenchman,  nor  was  he  even  of  a  distinguished 
family.  His  native  town  of  Valenciennes,  although  it 
had,  since  the  peace  of  Nymphenburg,  belonged  to 
France,  was  nevertheless  a  Flemish  city.  His  father 
was  a  tiler,  who  intended  to  make  his  son  a  carpenter, 
and  the  boy  had  great  difficulty  in  acquiring  permission 
to  visit  the  workshop  of  a  village  painter.  He  then 
formed  the  great  resolution  of  trying  his  fortune  in 
Paris,  the  centre  of  all  taste  and  of  everything  beautiful. 
Alone  and  without  connections,  a  bashful,  reticent 
young  man,  he  walked  the  pavements  of  a  great  city, 
his  head  full  of  plans,  but  his  pockets  empty.  He 
finally  obtained  occupation  with  a  dealer  near  the 
Pont  Notre  Dame  to  paint  copies  of  Netherlandish 
pictures  for  three  francs  a  week:  was  afterwards  em- 


Matteau 


68i 


ployed  by  the  scene-painter  Gillot,  and  later  by  Claude 
Audran,  conservator  of  the  Luxembourg,  in  decorative 
works. 

How,  then,  did  this  son  of  the  Flemish  tiler,  who 
knew  only  the  misery  of  life,  become  the  painter  of  the 
graces?   The  explanation  is  perhaps  to  be  found  in 
the  fact  that  Watteau  was  a  foreigner.    All  the 
Parisian  painters  passed  regardless  by  this  world  of 
beauty  which  they  saw  about  them  daily.  Watteau 
discovered  it,  because  for  him  the  Parisian  was  some- 
thing strange  and  wonderful  that  he  observed  with  the 
delighted  eye  of  a  peasant  lad  who  had  just  come  into 
a  great  city.    He  had  only  seen  tradesmen,  jugglers, 
bird-dealers  and  rat-catchers,  kirmesses  and  crude 
peasant  dances  in  his  native  home.    In  Paris,  as  the 
associate  of  Audran,  he  lived  in  the  centre  of  the  ele- 
gant world.    Even   to-day  in  the  garden   of  the 
Luxembourg  at  night,  the  spirit  of  the  eighteenth 
century    awakes.    The  huge  old  trees  wind  their 
branches  as  if  to  form  fairy  groves,  and  through  the 
long  paths  loving  couples  wander,  while  others  whisper 
on  marble  benches  at  the  feet  of  old  statues.  To-day 
they  are  students  and  grisettes,  but  they  were  then 
young  cavaliers  and  dainty  countesses;  for  the  garden 
of  the  Luxembourg  was  the  rendezvous  of  distinguished 
society  in  the  eighteenth  century  as  was  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne  in  the  nineteenth.    Often  the  poor  tiler's 
son  of  Valenciennes  looked  timidly  down  from  the 
high  windows  of  the  palace  upon  this  elegant  life. 


682  XTbe  Hrt  of  fvancc 


What  he  did  not  see  here  he  learned  at  a  later  period 
with  Crozat,  the  rich  financier:  the  whole  history  of  the 
epoch  and  the  most  adored  women  of  Paris.  As  he  was 
a  stranger,  he  was  the  first  to  paint  what  Parisian 
painters  had  not  considered  capable  of  artistic  rendi- 
tion— a  phenomenon  which  has  often  been  repeated. 
Jan  van  Eyck  became  the  father  of  landscape  painting 
because  he  travelled  from  his  home  to  Portugal; 
Gentile  Bellini,  the  painter  of  Venice,  because  he  had 
previously  been  in  Constantinople;  Theodocopuli,  the 
first  painter  of  Spanish  women,  because  he  was  a  native, 
not  of  Spain,  but  of  Greece. 

A  second  motive  must  also  be  considered, — that 
Watteau  himself  was  a  misshapen,  embittered  man. 
An  incurable  malady  had  made  him  timid  and  un- 
sociable. He  is  described  by  his  biographers  as  sad 
and  fearful,  suspicious  and  awkward  in  company,  and 
his  portraits  confirm  this  description.  His  eyes  are 
empty  and  expressionless  as  those  of  a  sparrow-hawk; 
his  hands  are  red  and  bony,  and  his  mouth  is  drooping. 
In  the  portrait  in  which  he  is  represented  without  a  wig, 
it  seems  as  if  he  wished  to  mock  his  own  ugliness 
and  sickness.  The  hair  is  tangled  and  disordered,  the 
clothes  droop  about  low  shoulders  and  a  small  chest. 
Though  surrounded  by  riches,  beauty,  coquetry,  and 
elegance,  he,  the  consumptive,  had  no  part  in  all  this. 

He  too  wished  to  love.  This  is  shown  by  the  myth- 
ological pictures  which  he  painted  at  the  beginning  of 
his  career.    He  dreams  of  rosy  bodies,  thinks  with  envy 


Ximatteau 


683 


of  Paris,  whom  the  three  goddesses  chose  as  an  arbiter; 
he  recalls  Jupiter  who,  as  a  goat-footed  satyr,  won  fair 
Antiope,  and  how  Vertumnus,  in  the  disguise  of  an  ugly 
old  woman,  deluded  the  fair  Pomona.  Only  to  him, 
the  sick  man,  love  is  denied.  A  picture  of  Cupid 
disarmed  closes  the  series  of  his  mythological  pictures. 

With  increasing  sickness  he  became  more  timid  and 
restless.  He  locked  his  door  and  separated  from 
Crozat  because  he  preferred  solitude.  After  taking 
refuge  with  a  countryman,  the  painter  Vleughels, 
where  no  one  would  seek  him,  he  left  even  him,  because 
the  thought  of  being  a  burden  to  others  distressed  him, 
and  wandered  aimlessly  to  London,  only  that  he  might 
be  unobserved  on  foreign  soil.  After  his  return  he 
painted  a  sign  for  his  friend  the  art  dealer  Gersaint — 
an  ethereal  picture  which  only  a  consumptive  could 
have  created:  without  substance,  the  grey  rose  colours 
as  if  breathed  upon  the  wood;  the  over-slender  figures 
relieved  of  all  that  is  fleshly ;  a  breath,  a  nothing.  Then 
he  retired  to  Nogent-sur-Marne.  He  began  an  altar- 
piece  which  he  wished  to  donate  to  the  church,  a 
Crucifixion  of  Christ,  with  an  expression  of  pain  which 
only  one  sick  unto  death  could  give.  He  died  on  the 
1 8th  of  July,  1 72 1,  at  thirty-six  years  of  age. 

If  one  knows  this  biography,  the  fetes  galantes  of 
Watteau  appear  in  a  different  light.  He  became  the 
painter  of  such  subjects  because  he  did  not  reproduce 
reality,  but  conceived  fata  morgana  pictures,  his  own 
dreams  of  beauty  and  of  love.    While  others  sailed 


684  Ube  Hrt  of  JFrance 


arm-in-arm  to  the  fields  of  the  blessed,  he,  the  sick 
and  misshapen,  remained  alone  upon  the  grey  earth, 
and  gazed  upon  the  happy  shores  from  which  no  ship 
approached  for  him.  His  whole  activity  was  the  ex- 
pression of  a  great  longing;  the  longing  of  a  sick  man 
for  joy,  and  of  a  lonely  man  for  love.  In  youth  when 
he  saw  others  struggle,  he  thought  of  soldiers  and  of 
camp  life,  of  military  fame  and  of  the  clangour  of 
trumpets;  as  Memling  in  the  hospital  of  Bruges  painted 
himself  as  a  lansquenet  galloping  through  the  landscape 
upon  a  white  horse.  At  a  later  period,  the  weak  man 
was  enraptured  by  the  strength  of  Rubens.  Then  he, 
the  ugly  one,  dreamt  of  beauty.  Sitting,  weary  unto 
death,  in  his  sick-room,  he  was  borne  by  the  wings  of  a 
dream  into  a  distant  Utopia,  into  a  land  of  happiness 
and  of  love.  When  lonely,  he  thought  of  women,  the 
touch  of  whose  garments  would  be  blessedness.  We 
can  thus  understand  the  sadness,  the  breath  of  melan- 
choly, which  quivers  through  these  representations 
of  the  enjoyment  of  life;  the  fact  that  his  figures, 
although  based  upon  actuality,  seem  to  spring  from  a 
distant  Elysium.  Although  they  wear  the  garb  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  his  women  are  not  those  of  whom 
the  authors  relate,  but  are  as  innocent,  as  maidenly 
and  bashful,  as  though  they  had  never  before  seen  a 
man.  Watteau  sings  of  them  like  a  schoolboy  to 
whom  love  is  still  a  holy  mystery.  For  him  the  prose 
of  life  is  interwoven  with  the  magic  of  fable.  Per- 
haps, indeed,  life  was  modelled  after  art,  and  the  age 


jfollowers  of  TOatteau  685 

discovered  its  grace  after  the  dreamer  Watteau  had 
revealed  it. 

W*  Zbc  jfollowers  of  'Ollatteau 

Our  attention  is  first  attracted  by  a  curious 
change  of  parts.  Watteau,  the  Netherlander,  seems 
Hke  a  Parisian:  Chardin,  the  Parisian,  like  a 
Netherlander.  Both  adopted  their  subjects  because 
they  saw  the  world  with  the  eye  of  a  romanticist. 
Watteau,  who  came  from  the  country  of  corpulent 
Flemish  matrons,  was  captivated  by  the  chic,  ethereal 
grace  of  a  Parisian  woman.  Chardin  dreamed  that  he 
was  far  away  from  the  majestic  pomp  of  the  style  of 
Louis  XIV.,  by  imitating  the  coy  Httle  pictures  of  the 
Dutch.  Thus  the  Netherlander  became  the  painter  of 
fetes  galantes,  while  the  Parisian  extolled  the  joys  of 
private  Hfe. 

Heretofore  still-life  had  only  been  painted  in  France 
when  it  was  possible  to  unite  it  logically  with  the  fig- 
ure of  Flora  or  Pomona.  Chardin  was  the  first  to  pro- 
gress to  independent  still-life:  a  successor  of  the  Dutch, 
and  yet  in  his  conception  of  colour  altogether  a  Ro- 
coco master.  For  the  Dutch  laboured  in  warm  Rem- 
brandtesque  light  and  shade,  while  Chardin  loved  cold 
harmonies  of  blue,  white,  and  yellow,  which  seldom 
occur  in  Dutch  painting,  and  then  almost  exclusively 
with  Terborg.  Porcelain,  the  favourite  decorative 
material  of  the  Rococo,  is  determinative  for  his  colour- 


686 


Ube  Hrt  of  fvancc 


scale;  for  objects  must  be  represented  in  cool  values  of 
colour  when  grouped  beside  white  porcelain  dishes. 
A  blue  grape  lies  near  a  yellow  lemon;  a  white  porcelain 
mug  with  a  blue  border  stands  beside  a  clay  pipe  and 
a  copper  kettle.  Sometimes  he  paints  a  table  with 
white  cloth,  and  upon  it  silver  knives  and  forks,  a  water 
goblet,  oysters,  and  glasses;  the  skin  of  a  pear  and  the 
bluish  rind  of  a  melon.  Books,  vases,  and  marble  busts, 
bluish-white  carpets,  globes,  and  atlases — always  only 
cool  or  mellow,  never  succulent  objects — he  arranges 
so  as  to  form  dainty  harmonies  of  colour. 

Chardin  lived  in  an  old  atelier  under  a  roof,  a  quiet, 
gloomy  room,  usually  full  of  the  vegetables  which  he 
used  for  his  still-life.  There  was  something  picturesque 
about  this  dusty  place,  where  the  dark  green  of  the 
vegetables  stood  in  harmonious  relief  against  the  grey 
walls,  and  the  blue  and  white  plates  formed  such  pretty 
spots  of  colour  upon  the  light  table-cloth.  In  this 
peaceful,  harmoniously  lighted  room  the  little  scenes 
from  child-life  are  also  set  of  which  one  chiefly  thinks 
when  Chardin's  name  is  mentioned.  The  clock  ticks  and 
on  the  cozy  porcelain  stove  the  kettle  bubbles.  He 
knows  no  significant  moments,  and  paints  in  these 
scenes  also  nothing  but  still-life:  the  poetry  of  habit. 
And  his  portraits  show  that  with  him  art  and  per-  * 
sonality  were  one  and  the  same.  He  looks  like  a  good 
grandpapa,  almost  like  an  old  lady ;  without  making  any 
toilette,  he  painted  himself  as  he  moved  about  at  home 
in  his  atelier.    With  a  white  nightcap  upon  his  head, 


ifollowers  of  Matteau  687 


a  thick  cloth  about  his  neck,  horn  spectacles  upon  his 
nose,  and  above  them  a  green  eye-shade,  he  looks 
serenely  and  quietly  upon  us.  Just  as  quiet  and  serene 
is  his  art.  In  an  age  which  knew  nothing  of  innocence, 
he  glorified  the  innocence  of  childhood;  and  in  depicting 
this  little  world  with  all  its  games,  joys,  and  sorrows 
he  opened  a  new  field  for  art.  How  tenderly  he  has 
painted  the  soul-life  of  the  child:  the  little  hands  folded 
in  prayer,  the  Httle  lips  which  the  mother  kisses,  the 
dreamy,  wide-open  young  eyes!  Sometimes  he  shows 
the  laundress,  the  cook,  or  the  labours  of  the  housewife. 
He  never  relates  anecdotes.  His  field  of  study  is  the 
pale,  subdued  light  of  dim  kitchens,  or  sunlight  play- 
ing upon  white  table-cloths  and  grey  walls.  Just 
because  he  does  not  attempt  to  narrate,  his  pictures 
have  such  a  distinguished  charm.  Art  is  concealed 
behind  an  unspeakable  simpHcity,  which  is  the  more 
charming  because  it  has  been  at  all  times  so  rare. 

That  of  the  many  who,  following  Watteau's  ex- 
ample, devoted  themselves  to  the  portrayal  of  the  life 
of  the  upper  classes,  not  one  approaches  him  in  deli- 
cacy is  due  rather  to  psychic  than  technical  reasons. 
Watteau,  the  sick,  consumptive  man,  to  whom  the 
happiness  of  love  was  never  granted,  saw  the  world  with 
the  eye  of  a  dreamer.  A  soft  zephyr  wafted  him  into 
the  Elysian  fields  where  nothing  had  the  heaviness  of 
earth  and  everything  was  dissolved  in  poetic  mist. 
His  realism,  which  consisted  in  the  externals  of  cos- 
tume, is  only   apparent.    In  reality  there  were  no 


688  xrbe  Hrt  of  Jfrance 


cavaliers  of  such  grace,  no  ladies  of  such  a  heavenly 
charm.  Only  the  perfume  of  flowers  and  the  essence 
of  things  is  wafted  from  his  pictures.  The  prose  of 
life  is  transformed  into  idealistic  poetry. 

The  artists  who  follow  him  stand  with  both  feet 
firmly  planted  in  real  life;  they  paint  not  dreams  but 
reality,  not  elegies  but  the  chronicles  of  their  time.  For 
this  reason  their  works  lack  the  poetic,  transfigured 
spirit  which  hovers  over  Watteau's.  But  although 
compared  with  him  they  have  a  cruder,  soberer,  drier 
effect,  they  seem  charming,  light,  and  free,  if  we  do 
not  spoil  our  pleasure  by  thinking  of  Watteau.  With 
them  also  there  is  neither  ennui  nor  acaaemic  coldness. 
They  follow  the  most  joyful  and  exquisite  fashion  which 
ever  existed,  and  they  follow  it  with  great  taste. 
Instinctively  and  without  effort  they  find  for  the  light, 
sparkling  things  which  they  wish  to  say  an  equally 
light  and  spaikling  style. 

Lancret,  who  worked  with  Watteau  under  Gillot,  is 
a  delicate  and  refined  master,  a  reflection  of  Watteau 
indeed,  but  one  who  mirrors  reflected  light  in  in- 
dividual variations.  He  is  especially  fond  of  painting 
jetes  galantes  in  the  open  air,  to  which  he  gives  the  title 
of  the  Four  Seasons.  In  the  springtime  young  ladies 
whom  the  sun  has  tempted  out-of-doors  gather  flowers 
in  the  woods,  while  the  organ  grinder  plays  his  instru- 
ment near  by.  In  the  summer  they  have  assumed 
the  costume  of  reapers  and  celebrate  the  harvest  feast; 
in  the  autumn  they  recline  with  attentive  cavaliers 


ifollowers  of  Matteau  689 


under  shady  trees;  in  the  winter,  muffled  in  coquettish 
furs,  they  are  courted  upon  the  ice.  Sometimes  a 
Turkish  fete  is  celebrated  or  an  excursion  is  made  to 
the  neighbouring  village,  where  the  yearly  fair  is  being 
celebrated  and  jugglers  dance. 

Pater  was  the  first  to  transfer  the  scenes  of  his 
pictures  to  the  salon.  After  the  new  hotels  of  the 
Faubourg  Saint-Germain  had  been  built  and  Oppenort 
had  created  the  new  style  for  applied  art,  Pater  could 
begin  composing  the  symphonies  of  the  salon.  Pretty 
costumes  and  clever  little  figures  in  the  midst  of  charm- 
ing Rococo  rooms — such  is  the  content  of  his  pictures. 
Young  ladies,  packed  in  amidst  soft  cushions,  recline 
on  silken  fauteuils;  dainty  chambermaids  occupied 
with  their  mistress;  the  abbe  appears  to  inquire  in 
regard  to  her  health,  the  dressmaker  submits  her 
latest  robes ;  and  lackeys  serve  tea  upon  silver  waiters. 
A  young  couple  sitting  upon  a  sofa,  in  front  of  a 
brightly  illuminated  chimney-piece,  is  examining  en- 
gravings so  close  together  that  the  outlines  of  the  silken 
breeches  of  the  gentleman  are  lost  in  the  lady's  silk 
robe.  A  world  of  exquisite  articles,  such  as  Japanese 
ivories,  bronzes,  and  oriental  fabrics,  is  all  about  the 
figures.  From  pier-glasses  and  Lyonese  cushions,  blue 
silk  beds  with  white  muslin  curtains,  from  dainty  silk 
petticoats,  grey  silk  stockings,  and  pink  silk  clothes, 
from  coquettish  dressing-gowns  trimmed  with  swans- 
down,  and  from  ostrich  feathers  and  Brussels  lace  he 
composes  delicate  bouquets  of  colour. 


690  TLbc  Hrt  ot  jFrance 


Le  Prince,  Fauray,  Ollivier,  Hilaire,  and  the  two 
Swedes  Lavreince  and  Roslin  are  further  interpreters 
of  worldly  elegance.  But  in  order  to  make  the  ac- 
quaintance of  the  Rococo  in  all  its  distinction  one  must 
also  study  the  etchings.  The  preference  for  light, 
evanescent  colour  was  especially  conducive  to  this 
branch  of  art.  Under  Louis  XIV.  line  engraving  also 
had  served  the  purpose  of  glorifying  the  king.  The 
boastful  pictures  of  the  palace  of  Versailles  and  the 
portraits  of  the  royal  family  and  accounts  of  the  court 
festivals  were  spread  abroad  in  prints.  Now  engrav- 
ing loses  its  courtly  character  and  becomes  a  fancy 
article  like  all  the  products  of  the  Rococo.  Dainty 
books  in  fme  morocco  binding  must  lie  upon  the  table; 
books  intended  not  to  be  read,  but  to  be  examined 
during  the  leisure  hours.  Dainty  duodecimo  editions 
of  the  classic  authors  also  appeared ;  Moliere's  comedies, 
Ovid's  Metamorphoses,  Boccaccio's  novels,  and  La  Fon- 
taine's fables  were  published  with  spicy  illustrations. 
Hubert  Gravelot,  Nicolas  Cochin,  and  Charles  Eisen 
furnished  the  illustrative  material,  spread  extravagant 
grace  on  all  sides,  and  enveloped  even  the  classic 
authors  with  gallant  charm. 

But  even  fonder  than  of  seeing  gods  and  nymphs 
were  men  of  beholding  themselves  in  the  mirror  of  art. 
And,  since  art  had  come  to  be  nothing  more  than  a 
reflection  of  life,  in  no  period  of  art  had  portraiture 
such  a  significance  as  during  the  Rococo.  Balls  and 
promenades,  the  theatre  and  the  salon — every  social 


jFollowers  of  Matteau  691 


event  was  caught  by  the  etchers  in  piints  which  give 
back  to  us  the  entire  frou-frou  of  the  century.  With  the 
older  artists  the  innocent,  paradisiac  sentiment  of 
Watteau  prevailed,  and  Arcadia  was  the  ideal  of  the 
salon.  Young  women  dream,  mechanically  turn  over 
the  leaves  of  a  volume  of  music,  or  listen  abstractedly 
to  the  words  of  a  cavalier.  From  the  later  etchers, 
as  from  Saint  Aubin's  Bal  pare,  the  jubilant  Evoe! 
of  joy  is  echoed.  The  rooms  gleam  in  the  light  of 
Venetian  chandeliers.  Rosy  cupids  look  down  from 
the  light  walls,  silken  trains  rustle,  silken  shoes  skip 
about,  fans  are  coquettishly  shaken,  diadems  and 
necklaces  sparkle  and  gleam.  Slender  cavaliers  and 
young  girls  dance  the  gavotte  with  a  teasing  yet  sol- 
emn grace;  knights  of  Malta  and  abbes  pay  court  to 
the  ladies.  The  mirrors  reflect  the  whole  glittering 
picture. 

Before  the  portraits  of  the  eighteenth  century  one 
remains  standing  in  the  galleries  with  especial  pleasure. 
Even  little  medallions,  the  works  of  unknown  artists, 
have  a  discreet  grace  which  disappeared  from  the  world 
with  the  rise  of  democratic  art.  Certainly  the  Rococo 
is  one-sided  here  also.  There  are  no  rugged,  manly 
characters,  for  life  did  not  produce  them.  The 
eighteenth  century  is  the  century  of  woman.  She  is 
the  axis  about  which  the  world  revolves;  the  most 
distinguished  protectress  of  art,  and  its  principal  sub- 
ject. There  passes  before  us  the  whole  company  of 
young  women  with  rosy  complexions  and  gentle  eyes, 


692  XTbe  Hrt  ot  ifrancc 


in  ample  silk  clothes,  adorned  with  collars,  or  in  half 
mythological  garb ;  young  girls  who  are  innocence  itself, 
and  others  less  apparently  so.  An  age  which  devoted 
itself  to  self-culture  produced  so  many  beauties  that 
it  seems  to  us,  descendants  of  a  later  period,  as  if 
ugly  women  had  not  existed  in  the  eighteenth  century. 

Jean  Marc  Nattier  was  the  first  to  desert  the  style  of 
Rigaud  and  paint  the  dainty  instead  of  the  dignified, 
the  lovable  instead  of  the  proud.  Although  he 
probably  had  little  insight  into  the  character  of  his 
models — and  such  insight  would  hardly  have  been 
worth  while — he  has  given  them  all  an  expression  of 
unaffected  distinction.  He  is  especially  at  home  in 
painting  silk  clothes,  of  caressing  light  shades  of  blue, 
grey,  and  green,  and  in  pink  tones.  He  had  also  a 
fine  taste  for  pretty  coiffures,  for  those  simple  wavy 
modes  of  dressing  the  hair  which  succeeded  the  majes- 
tic arrangement  of  the  age  of  Louis  XIV.  In  the 
application  of  beauty  spots,  and  the  wearing  of  pearls 
and  delicate  diadems,  he  was  a  past  master.  Often  he 
painted  the  ladies  in  fragrant,  transparent  robes, 
through  which  a  leg  or  breast  peeped  forth,  and  in- 
scribed them  Diana  or  Musidora. 

Louis  Tocque,  his  stepson,  carried  to  barbaric  Rus- 
sia something  of  the  splendour  of  the  Rococo,  and 
Robert  Tournieres  introduced  the  mode  of  medallions 
and  of  delicate  miniature  portraits.  But  far  richer  in 
consequence  was  the  inspiration  that  came  from  a 
Venetian  artist.    Under  Watteau's  portraits  we  find 


jfollowers  ot  Matteau  693 


one  of  a  lady  upon  a  background  of  roses— Rosalba 
Carriera,  whose  beautiful  name  and  rosy  art  he  in- 
dicated by  a  symbol. 

This  lady  played  an  important  part  in  the  history 
of  art  during  the  eighteenth  century ;  for  she  invented 
pastel  painting.  The  effect  of  oil  painting  was  too 
heavy  and  material,  too  gloomy  and  solemn  in  the  light 
rooms  of  the  Rococo.  Its  oily  and  moist  colours  did 
not  suit  the  fragrant-powder  sentiment.  They  needed 
a  technique  which  was  as  spiritual  as  the  subjects;  a 
technique  that  used  the  dust  of  flowers  as  colour  and 
preserved  the  sensitive  qualities  of  the  butterfly's 
wing.  For  this  reason  Rosalba  adopted  pastel  painting. 
Although  her  portraits  are  life-sized,  they  preserve 
the  character  of  dainty  jewels.  She  does  not  paint 
her  ladies  in  dignified  poses,  but  attempts  to  catch 
•the  nervous  charm  which  lies  in  the  turning  of  a  corner 
of  the  mouth,  a  mocking  glance  of  the  eye,  a  dainty 
gesture,  or  a  refmed  movement.  Light  silk  robes 
rustle,  dainty  laces  flutter  and  the  perfume  of  tea- 
roses  and  flowers  is  wafted  from  the  powdered  hair. 

Among  Frenchmen  Maurice  Latour  progressed 
further  in  the  paths  of  Rosalba.  All  types  of  Rococo 
society — aesthetic  abbes  and  gallant  ministers,  theatri- 
cal and  real  princesses,  chamberlains,  princes,  and  sub- 
tle marquises — ^file  by  in  his  pastels.  His  portrait  of 
himself  resembles  Voltaire.  A  light,  mocking  smile 
plays  about  his  mouth,  and  this  sharp  epigrammatic 
trait  distinguished  also  his  pastels  from  the  soft 


694  TLbc  Hrt  of  ifrance 


and  charming  productions  of  Rosalba.  In  keen,  witty 
strokes,  bold  and  sarcastic,  he  depicts  a  character. 
The  ladies  of  the  opera,  those  dancers  who  continue  to 
live  under  the  delightfully  vague  names  of  Mile.  Rosalie 
and  Mile.  Silanie,  gave  the  preference  to  Perronneau, 
in  whose  works  they  found  a  more  graceful  rendition  of 
their  beauty.  The  most  celebrated  of  all  was  the  Swiss 
Liotard,  who  made  a  triumphal  progress  through  the 
world,  from  Naples  to  London,  and  from  Paris  to 
Constantinople. 

ID.  :«3oucber 

The  Rococo  was  the  first  period  which  used  the 
rustling  of  the  toilette  to  heighten  sensual  charm. 
A  piece  of  bare  flesh,  shimmering  under  a  lace  sleeve, 
no  larger  than  was  necessary  to  press  the  lips  upon, 
seemed  more  piquant  than  statuesque  nudity.  As 
in  this  domain  there  were  so  many  delicate  discov- 
eries to  be  made,  historical  painting  had  from  the 
beginning  to  yield  to  genre-painting  in  the  same 
proportion  as  taste  preferred  the  small  to  the  great. 
Jean  Restout,  Jean  Raoux,  Pierre  Subleiras,  Carle  van 
Loo,  Lagrenee,  Jean  Francois  de  Troy,  Charles  Antoine, 
and  Noel  Nicolas  Coypel,  the  chief  representatives  of 
historical  painting  in  the  first  quarter  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  still  belonged  to  the  school  of  Le  Brun.  At 
least,  the  same  powerful  and  heavy  forms  remain  and 
there  does  not  live  in  their  work  that  indefinable  spark 


ROSALBA  CARRIERA 


A  LADY  (pastel) 

Louvre 


Boucbet 


695 


which  electrifies  the  beholder  in  the  works  of  the  Ro- 
coco. Only  in  their  subjects  the  spirit  of  the  Rococo 
is  expressed,  just  as  the  Carracci  had  once  depicted 
the  subjects  of  the  Counter-reformation  in  the  lan- 
guage of  form  of  the  fifteenth  century. 

As  in  the  days  of  Correggio  and  Sodoma,  love  stories 
were  the  only  themes  treated,  and  both  Bible  and 
mythology  were  used  to  furnish  material  to  the  ars 
amandi.  Magdalen,  for  the  Counter-reformation  the 
penitent  sinner,  became  again  for  the  Rococo  the  spirit 
of  attractive  sin.  A  favourite  subject  was  the  theme 
Lot  and  Us  Daughters  in  which  the  relation  of  the 
Regent  to  the  Duchess  of  Berry  seemed  personified. 
Seductive  pursuits  and  gallant  shepherd  scenes  were 
offered  by  the  antique.  Psyche  is  led  by  Zephyrus 
into  the  palace  of  Cupid,  Vertumnus  deludes  Pomona, 
and  Andromeda  breaks  the  bonds  of  marital  conven- 
tion; Telemachus  seeks  his  father  lingering  with  the 
beautiful  Calypso.  Venus,  the  open-hearted  spouse 
of  Vulcan,  is  surrounded  by  a  court  of  all  her  admirers. 
She  coquettes  with  Adonis,  Hermes,  or  Mars,  receives 
the  reward  of  the  apple  from  Paris,  and  celebrates  her 
relation  with  Bacchus — a  hymn  to  wine  and  love. 
Dainty  chambermaids  costumed  as  graces  serve  her, 
cupids  bearing  flowers  and  silken  bands  hover  in  the 
air.  Favourite  subjects  also  were  the  love-adventures 
of  Jupiter;  how  he  approached  Danae  as  a  golden  rain, 
Callisto  as  a  satyr,  and  Europa  as  a  bull;  how  Latona 
retired  to  the  isle  of  Delos  to  give  birth  to  her  twins. 


696  Xlbe  Hrt  of  ifrance 


Neptune,  ruler  of  the  sea,  plays  an  important  part, 
because  the  bath  has  become  the  centre  of  refined 
pleasure  for  the  Rococo.  He  is  enthroned  at  the  side 
of  Amyone  tritons  and  nereids  swing  and  rock  upon 
the  waves.  The  artists  are  delighted  to  have  passed 
the  days  of  gloomy  piety,  and  therefore  paint  the  sun- 
god,  progressing  through  the  clouds  upon  his  glittering 
waggon ;  leaving  the  abode  of  Thetis  at  morn,  and  re- 
turning to  the  palace  of  the  goddess  at  even,  after  he 
had  during  the  day  pursued  Daphne  or  done  homage 
to  Leucothea  or  Clytie.  Even  Hercules  is  a  hero  of 
the  time,  not  indeed  the  giant  who  throttles  Antaeus, 
but  Musagetus,  leading  like  a  dainty  ballet-master  the 
dances  of  the  Muses,  or  the  enamoured  Phaeacian  sitting 
at  the  spinning-wheel  of  Omphale.  Especially  in  this 
scene  did  the  Rococo  fmd  a  confirmation  of  its  own 
philosophy  of  life:  that  even  the  heroes  of  antiquity 
passed  their  happiest  hours  in  ladies'  boudoirs.  Other 
celebrated  lovers,  Angelica  and  Medor,  or  Rinaldo 
following  the  enchantress  Armida  to  her  island,  fre- 
quently recur.  The  beautiful  lady  of  the  period  con- 
sidered herself  a  Dejanira  when  a  marquis  in  the  role 
of  Nessus  carried  her  off,  and  consoled  herself  with  the 
deserted  Ariadne  or  Dido,  when,  after  a  brief  love- 
affair,  her  friend  deserted  her. 

After  these  masters  had  depicted  Rococo  thoughts 
in  the  heavy  forms  and  the  showy  colours  of  Le  Brun, 
Fran(^ois  Lemoyne  led  the  Rococo  to  victory  in  form 
also,  and  gave  to  historical  painting  that  trend  to 


Boucber 


freedom,  lightness,  and  grace  which  genre-painting 
had  received  through  Watteau.  In  place  of  the  heavy 
red  and  blue,  dainty  rosy  and  light  tones  appear,  and 
at  the  same  time  the  dainty  bodies  of  the  Rococo  ladies 
were  no  longer  enveloped,  as  formerly,  in  a  rustling 
silk  dress.  Lemoyne's  figures  have  not  the  majestic 
movement  and  the  rounded  limbs  of  the  preceding 
epoch,  and  no  longer  resemble  the  heroic  massive 
female  type  of  the  Baroque.  They  have  dainty, 
fragile  bodies  with  piquant  little  heads  and  coquettish 
coiffures,  with  a  fme  sensual  nose,  soft  arms,  and  long, 
graceful  legs.  Neither  do  they  stand  amidst  mighty 
architecture  or  before  heavy  sweeping  curtains,  but, 
light  and  ethereal,  in  careless  joy,  they  rock  upon  the 
clouds.  Whether  he  calls  them  nymphs  or  graces, 
or  unites  the  Muses,  Diana,  Flora,  and  Pandora  in  the 
Apotheosis  of  Hercules,  they  are  all  Parisian  women 
of  the  Rococo,  elegant  and  supple.  A  mischievous 
laughter,  a  mixture  of  innocence  and  corruption  plays 
about  their  mouth.  Before  they  sat  as  models  their 
little  waists  had  been  laced  in  tight  corsets  and  their 
legs  encased  in  silk  stockings.  Paint  and  beauty- 
spots  are  not  unknown  to  them,  and,  although  they 
are  antique  goddesses,  they  know  all  the  secrets  of 
the  toilette  and  the  refinement  which  the  marquises 
and  opera  beauties  of  the  eighteenth  century  had 
brought  into  vogue.  His  Muses  are  as  portrait-like 
as  Falguiere's  statue  of  Cleo  de  Merode. 
Through  Lemoyne  historical  painting  thus  attained 


698  XTbe  Hrt  ot  jfrance 


a  new  character.  It  became  a  new  feature  of  the  ars 
amandi  to  be  painted  as  an  antique  love-pair.  How 
unrestrainedly  this  was  done  is  shown  by  the  picture 
which  the  young  Due  de  Choiseul  ordered  in  1750  upon 
the  occasion  of  his  marriage  to  the  daughter  of  the 
financier  Crozat,  in  which  he  was  depicted  as  Apollo 
descending  to  Clytie,  the  beautiful  mortal. 

Charles  Natoire  was  the  first  to  progress  farther  in 
these  paths.  His  usual  subjects  are  bacchic  festivals, 
scenes  from  the  story  of  Psyche,  Galatea  encircled  by 
cupids,  or  the  deserted  Ariadne.  Everything  is  light 
and  rosy,  corresponding  perfectly  with  the  light  tone 
of  the  rooms  and  the  silvery  gleam  of  the  orn- 
aments. 

Francois  Boucher  grasped  all  these  threads  in  his 
hand  and  created  an  art  which  was  an  apotheosis  of  the 
Rococo.  The  carnival  which  had  begun  with  a  meas- 
ured gavotte  has  now  become  a  wild  can-can.  He 
paints  no  longer  Watteau's  minuet,  but  those  so-called 
Babylonian  dances  which  the  corps  de  ballet  of  the 
Grand  Opera  performed  before  Louis  XV.  Crebillon, 
Bernard,  and  Grecourt  in  literature.  Pompadour  and 
du  Barry  upon  the  throne,  fmd  in  him  their  artistic 
parallel. 

In  many  respects  his  works  are  disappointing.  He 
did  not  possess  the  delicacy  peculiar  to  the  best  Rococo 
masters.  At  a  later  period  Diderot  called  him  a  painter 
of  marionettes,  and  this  criticism  touches  Boucher's 
weakest  point.    His  works  are  lacking  in  the  psychic 


Boucber 


699 


charm  which  Watteau  possessed  to  such  a  high  degree ; 
they  have  no  soul,  and  therefore  cannot  speak  to  soul. 
A  malicious  smile,  a  tender  infatuation,  are  the  only 
sentiment  reflected  in  these  heads.  Many  as  were  the 
models  who  frequented  his  atelier,  Boucher  is  seldom 
individual,  and  gives  to  his  deities  and  nymphs  some- 
thing typical  and  empty  which  almost  reminds  us  of  a 
wax  doll.  In  form  and  in  colour  also  he  is  often  cruder 
than  the  others.  Crimson  tones  prevail  in  his  car- 
nations, and  his  intense  blue  sometimes  has  an  almost 
gaudy  effect.  Especially  are  his  works  of  his  last 
years  far  from  attaining  the  charming  grace  of  the 
Rococo  painters ;  the  heads  being  grimacing  and  in- 
sipid, the  bodies  of  an  artificial  elegance  in  their  rounded 
softness.  The  pressure  of  work  during  the  last  years 
caused  him  to  adopt  a  fixed  pattern,  and  to  strive 
after  chic  and  external  effect. 

But  just  this  pressure  and  the  colossal  number  of 
his  works,  point  out  the  exceptional  position  which 
he  occupies  within  his  epoch.  The  Rococo  is  an  age 
rather  of  Phaeacian  enjoyment  than  of  bold  activity, 
rather  of  trifling  dalliance  than  of  serious  work.  The 
artists  also  are  aesthetic  lovers  of  pleasure  with  little 
of  the  energy  of  the  preceding  generation.  In  contrast 
to  these  over-refined  epicures  who  early  in  life  became 
biases  and  were  silent,  Boucher  appears  to  teem  with 
health,  although  it  was  he  who  in  later  years  was  con- 
sidered the  genuine  type  of  the  man  of  the  Rococo, 
whose  existence  was  passed  in  sybaritic  effeminacy. 


700  XTbe  Hrt  ot  ifrance 


He  led  the  life  of  a  grand  seigneur,  spent  50,000  francs 
a  year,  subsidised  ballet  dancers,  and  gave  artistic 
fetes  to  which  the  whole  world  of  the  stage  flocked. 
He  possessed  an  artistic  collection  containing  gold- 
smith's work,  bronzes,  Japanese  wood-engravings,  and 
Chinese  porcelains,  besides  pictures  and  drawings  by 
almost  all  great  masters.  At  the  same  time,  how- 
ever, he  stands  in  the  midst  of  this  epicurean  time 
as  a  powerful,  able  workman:  a  sort  of  Augustus  the 
Strong,  who  was  out  of  place  in  this  effeminate  epoch. 
The  period  of  his  activity  covers  half  a  century. 
Until  very  old  age  he  sat  daily  ten  hours  at  the  easel, 
and  under  the  government  of  Pompadour  especially 
he  was  the  man  for  everything.  Every  day  he  ap- 
peared in  her  palace  to  give  her  instruction  in  painting 
and  look  through  her  etchings.  No  court  festival,  no 
theatrical  representation  took  place  which  he  did  not 
conduct.  In  addition  to  the  role  of  the  designer  of 
the  wardrobe  he  also  had  to  play  those  of  a  paper- 
hanger,  cabinet-maker,  jeweller,  and  decorator.  For 
the  solution  of  such  many-sided  problems  a  dreamer 
like  Watteau  would  not  have  been  capable;  it  re- 
quired a  robust  workman  sure  of  whatever  he  under- 
took. As  Boucher  was  this,  he  is  lacking  in  the  fme 
note  of  the  Rococo,  and  appears  like  an  artisan  among 
artists.  But  as  he  alone  still  had  the  power  of  work 
possessed  by  the  great  men  of  the  past,  he  was,  not- 
withstanding this,  the  representative  man  of  the 
epoch,  and  has,  as  its  strongest  and  busiest  master, 


Boucber 


701 


given  the  final  bodily  form  to  the  spirit  of  the  Rococo 
in  all  of  its  radiations. 

Boucher's  activity  included  everything.  He  once 
painted  a  picture  for  Mme.  de  Pompadour :  little  cupids 
making  music,  carving,  building,  etching,  painting, 
and  kneading  in  clay — a  homage  to  the  beautiful 
woman  who,  as  a  dilettante,  was  active  in  all  domains 
of  art.  Such  a  magician  was  Boucher.  He  took  part 
in  everything  that  art  produced  to  surround  life  with 
aristocratic  splendour.  He  not  only  arranged  the 
ballets  and  Japanese  fetes  which  took  place  in  the 
house  of  Pompadour,  but  even  designed  the  cos- 
tumes for  all  the  great  ladies  who  appeared  at  the 
court,  and  for  all  the  little  dancers  whom  she  sum- 
moned from  the  Opera.  Landscape-gardening  re- 
ceived through  him  a  new  character.  In  his  designs 
Diverses  jontaines  we  first  meet  with  the  rose-bowers 
and  shell  grottos  which  dominated  the  style  for  several 
decades;  the  fantastic  cliffs  from  which  the  water 
spurts  forth ;  chimaeric  monsters  who  dwelt  with  beauti- 
ful women  in  enchanted  grottos.  Next  to  Aurele 
Meissonier,  he  was  the  great  leader  of  applied  art 
in  France.  Inexhaustible  in  invention,  he  furnished 
designs  for  sculptors,  ivory  carvers,  goldsmiths,  and 
carpenters;  for  paper,  furniture,  sedan  chairs  and 
bookbinding,  fans  and  jewelry;  he  modelled  porcelain 
figures  and  mantel  decorations,  vases  and  chandeliers. 

As  a  painter  he  is  devoted  to  no  especial  branch. 
Whether  the  problem  is  to  paint  easel-pictures  or 


702  XTbe  Hrt  of  ifrance 


decorations,  wall  or  ceiling  pictures,  surportes,  wag- 
gon doors,  dainty  miniatures  or  menus,  oil  paintings, 
etchings,  or  pastels — he  furnishes  everything.  For 
the  stage  he  designed  curtains  and  scenery,  gardens 
adorned  with  statues,  grottos,  and  waterfalls,  palaces 
with  marble  colonnades,  and  country  dairies  in  hazy, 
blue  landscapes.  As  director  of  the  Gobelins'  factory, 
he  fixed  the  style  of  tapestries,  and  composed  vases  and 
garlands,  shells  and  medallions  into  joyous  fantastic 
designs.  The  number  of  chambers  which  he  decorated 
for  the  king  was  colossal;  the  royal  bedrooms  in  especial 
which  were  scattered  throughout  Paris  were  entirely 
Boucher's  work.  The  palace  of  Bellevue  which  Pompa- 
dour built  for  herself  owed  to  him  its  decoration. 

And  as  he  was  technically  the  master  of  the  most 
different  branches  of  art,  so  his  range  of  subjects  knew 
no  bounds.  The  man  who  could  himself  play  the  role 
of  tailor  and  carpenter  understood  from  its  very  found- 
ations the  furniture  of  the  Rococo.  Pictures  from 
the  elegant  world  form  therefore  the  introduction  to 
his  works.  When  he  designed  his  illustrations  to 
Moliere,  he  did  not  think  of  keeping  them  within  the 
style  of  the  seventeenth  century;  he  forgot  that  these 
ladies  wore  high  toupets  and  stiff  corsets  and  moved 
about  in  Le  Notre's  gardens.  He  merely  translated 
MoHere  into  the  Rococo,  made  him  coquettishly  young 
and  amusing.  Like  Watteau,  he  is  the  leader  of 
fashion  who  is  always  inventing  new  coiffures  and  new 
toilettes.    The  scene  is  laid  at  one  time  in  the  park, 


Boucber 


703 


then  in  the  street,  the  boudoir,  or  the  salon.  The 
furniture  is  of  bizarre  elegance:  the  bed  especially, 
a  mighty  four-poster,  is  hardly  ever  lacking  in  the 
background  of  his  prints.  He  has  similiarly  depicted 
in  a  series  of  pictures  the  aristocratic  life  of  the  Rococo. 
Here  a  young  lady  sits  at  her  mirror  and  reflects  where 
the  beauty-spot  which  she  wishes  to  apply  will  be  most 
becoming;  or  she  interrupts  her  toilette  to  interview  a 
little  milliner  who  is  submitting  Brussels  lace  for  her 
inspection ;  or  she  stands  at  a  window  engaged  in  tying 
a  rose-coloured  love  letter  about  the  neck  of  a  carrier 
pigeon;  or  in  the  winter  season  she  is  pushed  over  the 
ice  in  a  chair-sleigh  by  her  admirer,  an  elegant  boa 
about  her  bare  shoulders,  and  enveloped  by  snow- 
drops gleaming  like  featherdown.  The  Chinese  also 
play  an  important  part  in  his  paintings,  certainly  little 
resembling  actual  Chinese,  but  all  the  more  like  the 
distinguished  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  took  part  in 
Pompadour's  Chinese  mummeries. 

As  a  portraitist  he  does  not  belong  to  the  great 
psychologists.  He  painted  few  pictures  which  are  at 
the  same  time  interesting  and  a  good  likeness,  Hke  the 
head  of  a  young  girl  in  the  Louvre.  Yet  he  has  in 
the  picture  of  Pompadour  created  a  work  which  re- 
flects the  spirit  of  the  whole  epoch.  She  sits  in  her 
workroom  upon  a  couch,  the  piano  is  open,  upon  a 
tabourette  lie  pieces  of  music,  some  of  which  have 
slipped  down  and  lie  upon  the  floor  beside  the  im- 
plements of  painting.    The  great  mirrors  behind  her  , 


Ubc  Hrt  ot  if  ranee 


reflect  the  salon,  the  books,  the  library,  and  the  cupids 
of  the  clock.  One  is  really  conducted  into  the  work- 
shop of  an  artist  rather  than  in  the  boudoir  of  a  mis- 
tress, and  the  picture  is  permeated  by  the  spirit  of  an 
age  which  made  even  of  love  an  art. 

On  account  of  his  pastoral  subjects  he  was  celebrated 
as  the  Anacreon  of  painting.  For  surportes  as  well  as 
for  gobelins  and  etchings  he  used  landscape  views, 
and  the  scenes  are  more  confidential  and  enamoured 
than  with  his  predecessors.  Here  a  young  marquis, 
disquised  as  a  shepherd,  teaches  his  sweetheart  to 
play  the  flute;  there  he  bends  over  her,  pressing  a  kiss 
upon  her  hair,  and  offers  her  a  dovecote,  a  birdcage, 
or  a  Pandora's  box;  or  they  kiss  each  other  through  the 
mediation  of  a  bunch  of  grapes,  which  he  devours  in 
rapturous  ecstacy  after  they  have  been  touched  by 
the  maiden's  lips. 

His  cooks  and  peasants  bring  another  shade  into 
this  love-play.  It  is  idle  to  speak  of  intimate  know- 
ledge of  folk-life  in  these  paintings;  for  these  are  not 
peasant  women  who  labour  in  the  field  with  a  hoe  but 
such  as  a  young  marquis,  tired  of  the  salon,  dreams  of. 
After  he  has  breathed  the  perfume  of  the  distinguished 
ladies,  he  envies  the  grenadier  his  cook,  the  village 
youth  his  country  beauty.  For  the  marquise  Boucher 
paints  the  sturdy  country  boys,  for  the  elegant  roues 
the  maidens  with  brown  arms  and  broad  shoulders. 
In  literature  Jules  Lemaitre  (in  his  romance  Les  wis) 
has  probably  best  depicted  this  sentiment  of  the  age. 


3Boucber  705 

With  this  sentiment  is  also  connected  the  fact  that 
the  countryfolk  took  such  a  prominent  part  in  his 
landscapes.  Although  he  shares  with  Watteau  the 
love  for  green  and  blooming  nature,  no  distinguished 
ladies  and  gentlemen  recline  upon  the  meadows.  The 
wood  is  for  him  no  Elysium  but  an  ideal  village  seen 
with  the  eye  of  a  gentleman  of  the  salon,  who  for  a 
change  fmds  an  especial  charm  in  the  odour  of'  the 
stable.  The  dwelUngs  are  thatched  peasants'  huts; 
turtle-doves  sit  cooing  upon  the  roof,  chickens  are  busy 
upon  the  dunghill,  brooks  wind  through  the  meadows 
past  decaying  bridges.  Fishermen  with  their  nets 
are  catching  trout,  and  especially  neat  washerwomen, 
their  skirts  tucked  up  high,  bend  over  their  work. 

Even  religious  pictures  occur  among  Boucher's 
works.  For  in  Pompadour's  residence  provision  was 
made  for  repentance  as  well  as  for  love.  The  architect 
had  not  forgotten  the  palace  chapel  and  Boucher  had 
designed  the  necessary  altar-pieces,  with  the  same  chic 
as  he  had  the  gauze  costumes  of  the  ballet  dancers. 
Among  his  religious  works  are  a  Birth  of  Christ,  an 
Adoration  of  the  Shepherds,  a  Sermon  of  John  the 
Baptist,  and  an  Assumption  of  Mary,  He  is  espec- 
ially fond  of  painting  the  Christ-child  and  the  infant 
John  kissing  each  other — another  evidence  of  the 
close  relationship  of  the  Rococo  to  the  age  of 
Leonardo,  which  had  first  used  this  motive. 

But  Boucher's  especial  domain  is  nude  mythological 
figures.    He  was  celebrated  by  contemporaries  and 


7o6  Zbc  Hrt  of  jfrance 


condemned  by  later  generations  as  the  "painter  of  the 
frivolous  court  of  Cythera."  When  the  name  of 
Boucher  is  mentioned  one  thinks  not  of  shepherds  and 
fetes  galanles,  but  of  pictures  like  the  Birth  of  Venus 
in  the  Stockholm  Museum.  Tritons  blow  their  shell 
horns  and  play  with  the  fair-haired  daughters  of  the 
sea,  approaching  upon  the  backs  of  friendly  dolphins. 
In  all  positions  the  bodies  caress  and  embrace  each 
other,  while  cupids  in  the  air  wave  a  cloth  like  a 
fluttering  banner  of  victory.  The  heaven  gleams 
brightly,  as  if  bathed  in  the  perfume  of  roses;  the 
bodies  of  the  women  arise  bright  and  gleaming  from 
the  light  blue  waves.  This  picture  means  for  Boucher 
what  the  Emharkment  for  the  Isle  of  Cythera  meant 
for  Watteau.  When  Watteau  appeared  the  pilgrimage 
was  begun,  but  now  its  end  has  been  attained.  While 
his  heroine  is  the  lady  in  silken  dress  and  Brussels 
lace  who  swings  her  dainty  slipper  over  a  world 
of  cavaliers,  Boucher's  is  Venus  in  person — likewise 
a  Venus  of  the  Rococo,  not  the  terrible  murdering 
goddess  whom  Racine  depicted  in  Phedre,  but  a 
courtesan  of  the  grand  style,  a  gay  marquise  who 
from  the  balcony  of  Olympus  scatters  fragrant  roses 
through  life. 

The  female  nude  was  the  dream  of  Boucher's  life, 
and  to  honour  it  he  set  all  Olympus  in  motion.  Phoebus, 
Thetis,  nymphs,  naiads,  and  tritons  rock  softly  in  the 
waves  and  the  ether;  Apollo  with  his  lyre  sits  upon 
the  clouds;  the  Muses  dance,  and  cupids  forge  the 


NEPTUNE  AND  AMYONE 

Trianon,  Versailles 


JBoucber 


weapons  of  Vulcan.  Here,  in  a  bright  blue  fragrant 
landscape,  Venus  leaves  her  dove-chariot  to  descend 
to  the  bath.  There  the  fair  Europa  is  abducted  by 
Zeus,  but  without  being  frightened;  her  playmates  do 
not  wail,  but  congratulate  her  on  being  the  chosen 
one  of  his  celestial  majesty.  Sometimes  he  paints 
the  Education  of  Cupid,  the  Abduction  of  Cephalus 
by  Aurora,  or  subjects  like  that  strange  picture  in 
the  Louvre,  Diana  Ascending  from  the  Bath,  in  which 
he  uses  the  motive  of  the  cherry-harvest  to  display 
youthful  bodies  in  the  most  varied  movements.  Fat- 
cheeked  putti  tumble  about  the  clouds,  triumphantly 
swing  silken  banners,  shoot  down  arrows,  and  bind 
the  hesitating  with  chains  of  roses. 

If  Watteau  is  the  Giorgione,  Boucher  may  be  called 
the  Correggio  of  the  Rococo.  Like  Correggio,  he  was 
helpless  in  depicting  manhood.  All  the  men  in  his 
pictures  are  marionettes,  who  have  no  bones  and  are 
made  of  sawdust.  With  Correggio  he  shares  the 
preference  for  fleshy  cupids  with  enormous  hips  and 
the  haut  gout  which  pervades  all  his  works.  They 
naturally  differ  in  composition  and  colour.  While 
Correggio's  composition  was  geometric,  Boucher's 
work  is  pervaded  by  the  dainty  rhythm  and  the  spark- 
ling freedom  of  the  Rococo.  While  Correggio,  the 
son  of  the  Renaissance,  loves  dark  and  golden  tones, 
Boucher  prefers  pale,  light  silver,  bluish-red  scales. 
Whereas  Correggio  uses  shadows  and  contrasts  to 
emphasise  his  nudes,  with  Boucher  everything,  figures 


7o8  XTbe  Hrt  of  jfrance 


as  well  as  landscape,  are  bathed  in  carressing,  vibrating 
light.  Psychically  also  the  difference  in  the  epoch 
is  evident.  Correggio's  quivering  passion  is  replaced 
in  Boucher  by  the  love-sick  antics  of  an  old  gentleman 
tapping  a  young  girl  under  the  chin. 

Boucher's  types  of  women  are  even  younger  than 
those  of  Lemoyne:  early  matured  at  the  age  of  fourteen 
— types  like  the  Irishwoman  Murphy  who  succeeded 
Pompadour  in  the  royal  favour.  The  legs  are  tender 
and  nervous,  the  waist  is  delicate,  and  the  young, 
hardly  rounded  breast  quite  undeveloped.  At  first 
his  wife,  a  seventeen-year-old  Parisian,  served  as  his 
model:  then  he  found  by  his  association  with  the 
opera  the  means  of  keeping  his  art  ever  young;  for 
the  corps  de  ballet  was  at  that  time  very  youthful, 
and  only  graceful  and  languishing  bodies  were  popular. 
In  the  portrait  which  Lundberg  painted,  Boucher  him- 
self looks  like  a  ballet-master;  the  head  with  the  wavy 
wig  has  something  triumphant  and  self-conscious. 
His  eye  gleams  as  if  in  fever,  and  his  mouth  is  soft 
and  sensual.  His  models  were  the  most  youthful  and 
the  freshest  of  figures.  One  can  even  observe  how 
with  increasing  age  he  found  a  more  subtle  pleasure 
in  seeking  out  quite  childish,  budding  bodies.  Like- 
wise he  was,  as  a  true  adventurer  of  love,  impartial  in 
his  favours.  As  he  painted  robust  cooks  as  well  as 
ethereal  marquises,  so  he  never  thought  of  confining 
himself  to  the  elastic  firmness  of  childish  bodies,  but 
proceeded  from  thin  to  fat,  taking  pleasure  in  flaccid 


Ipaintete  of  jfrit>oUti5  709 


bodies  and  soft,  fatty  skin.  He  sometimes  renders 
every  feature  of  such  corpulencies  with  such  dehght 
that  it  seems  as  if  Rubens  had  come  to  Hfe  again. 

\Dir.  Zbc  ipaintcrs  of  f  rivoUti? 

In  this  manner  the  development  progressed.  With 
the  dainty  and  measured  minuets  of  Watteau  the 
ball  had  begun,  at  midnight  under  the  leadership 
of  Boucher  they  danced  the  can-can,  and  now  at  dawn 
the  cotillon  follows. 

They  had  danced  and  loved  too  much.  Instead  of 
exerting  themselves  they  now  wished  only  to  observe, 
as  the  pasha  smoking  opium  sits  apathetically  in  his 
harem.  Even  to  have  the  ballet-girls  dance  no  longer 
affords  pleasure.  Thus  begins  at  the  close  of  the 
Rococo  the  really  gallant  art — the  living  pictures. 
Sturdy  fellows  and  pretty  maidens  of  the  people  must 
enact  for  the  distinguished  gentlemen  the  love-scenes 
for  which  they  have  themselves  become  too  biases. 

Pierre  Antoine  Baudouin  is  the  first  to  tread  this 
domain.  His  entire  activity  is  devoted  to  the  narration 
of  gallant  adventures.  Here  a  young  girl  is  willingly 
carried  off;  there  an  old  gentleman  takes  pleasure  in 
overhearing  his  beloved  with  a  young  gardener;  there 
again  confessionals  are  used  for  interesting  conversa- 
tions. The  circumstance  that  in  the  narration  of  such 
episodes  Baudouin  never  uses  a  large  canvas  and  the 
heavy  oil  colours,  but  always  a  miniature  form,  and  the 


7IO  XTbe  Hrt  of  jfrance 


gouache  technique  is  a  proof  of  the  never-failing  tact 
which  hke  a  force  majeure  dominated  this  age. 

But  the  cleverest  of  this  group,  and  indeed  one  of 
the  most  refined  artists  of  the  century,  is  Fragonard, 
the  subtle  charmer,  in  whose  works  all  the  joy  in  life 
and  light-heartedness,  the  whole  grace  of  the  Rococo 
is  once  more  revealed.  He  painted  everything.  Next 
to  his  teacher  Boucher,  he  was  the  most  popular  de- 
corator who  adorned  the  temples  of  the  goddesses  of 
beauty.  Guimard  as  well  as  du  Barry  made  use  of  his 
services,  and  although  such  works,  torn  from  their 
environment,  lose  their  most  subtle  charm,  even  from 
the  fragments  one  can  judge  what  clever  and  sparkling 
decorations  Fragonard  created:  bizarre  and  coquettish 
in  conception,  light  and  delicate  in  tones.  That  in 
one  of  these  works,  the  Four  World-Religions,  he  places 
the  Christian,  Asiatic,  American,  and  African  side  by 
side,  in  a  setting  of  the  purest  Rococo  style,  is  likewise 
characteristic  for  the  spirit  of  the  century. 

Beside  the  decorator  stands  the  landscape  painter. 
Even  in  his  youth,  when  a  pensioner  of  the  king  in 
Italy,  he  drew  very  dehcate  landscapes:  the  ancient 
Roman  villas  in  their  mixture  of  grandeur  and  de- 
cay, black  cypresses  rigidly  stretching  their  boughs  to 
heaven,  and  bright  white  statues  blinking  from  the 
green  foliage.  Later  on  he  left  Paris  every  summer  for 
the  country  to  portray  in  fresh  pictures  peasant 
life.  Countrymen  repose  after  the  day's  work,  laun- 
dresses spread  their  linen  upon  the  meadows,  cows 


painters  of  ifrivoUti?  711 

and  asses  graze  in  a  lonely  field.  Children  especially 
are  the  heroes  of  these  pastoral  scenes;  they  make 
their  little  dogs  dance,  play  with  Polichinelle,  or  receive 
their  supper  from  their  mother. 

His  portraits  have  made  him  the  admired  favourite 
of  modern  Impressionists.  It  is  hardly  possible  by 
simpler  means  or  by  any  retouching  or  additions  to 
concentrate  more  life  and  directness  in  one  head. 
With  Hals's  bold  presentation  he  combines  the  spark- 
ling frou-frou  of  the  Rococo.  The  toilettes  are 
attuned  to  delicate  greyish-red  tones,  and  he  grasps 
the  most  fleeting  movements  of  figures  and  features. 
Actors  especially  were  represented  in  his  pictures:  for 
they  were  the  heroes  of  this  age,  which  no  longer  loved 
and  laboured  but  only  played  or  had  things  presented. 

Nevertheless  one  thinks  not  of  such  things  when  the 
name  of  Fragonard  is  mentioned,  but  of  hoop-skirts, 
silken  trimmings  and  short  petticoats,  swings  revealing 
interesting  grey  stockings,  fine  cambric  chemises  ghding 
from  rosy  shoulders,  of  cupids  kisses  and  love-play. 

"Shortly  after  the  close  of  the  Salon  exhibition  in 
1763,"  Fragonard  himself  relates,  '*a  gentleman  sent 
me  an  invitation  to  visit  him.  When  I  responded  to 
his  invitation  he  was  in  the  country  with  his  mistress. 
At  first  he  overwhelmed  me  with  praises  of  the  picture 
I  had  exhibited,  and  then  confessed  that  he  wished 
another  one  by  me,  the  idea  of  which  he  himself  would 
give:  '  I  should  like  you  to  paint  Madame  in  the  swing. 
Place  me  so  that  I  can  see  the  pretty  child's  feet,  or 


712  xcbe  Hrt  of  jf  ranee 


even  more  if  you  wish  to  give  me  especial  pleasure/  ** 
To  this  strange  lover  we  owe  the  picture  of  The  Swing, 
the  first  that  shows  the  real  Fragonard. 

With  this  picture  he  found  his  mission  and  became 
the  privileged  master  of  this  genre.  All  the  gentlemen 
of  court  as  well  as  those  of  the  haute  finance  wished  to 
have  a  Fragonard,  and  the  artist  was  inexhaustible 
in  his  invention  of  piquant  situations.  He  is  certainly 
not  a  moral  artist,  but  whoever  judges  works  of  art 
not  by  their  subject  but  by  their  artistic  value  will 
nevertheless  reckon  him  among  the  greatest  masters; 
so  much  sparkling  verve,  so  much  spirit  and  dash  is 
shown  in  all  of  his  paintings.  It  is  astonishing  with 
what  fme  feeling  he  arranges  his  colours  and  by  what 
simple  means  he  expresses  life  and  movement.  From 
the  circumstance  that  he,  like  Baudouin,  always  used 
water-colour,  not  oil,  and  never  painted  upon  a  large 
scale,  every  trivial  realism  is  avoided  and  the  character 
of  the  joyful  capriccio  is  sustained. 

Is  it  the  mobile  blood  of  the  southern  Frenchman 
(for  Fragonard  was  a  native  of  sunny  Provence) 
which  pulsates  through  his  works,  or  did  he  labour  so 
nervously  and  hastily  because  he  himself  felt  that 
the  days  of  joy  were  numbered?  The  carnival  of  the 
Rococo  approaches  its  end;  and  Fragonard  is  the 
Pierrot  Lunaire,  skipping  about  pale  and  ghostlike  at 
dawn.  Many  of  his  pictures,  mad  as  they  are,  have 
something  of  the  character  of  a  prayer.  Upon  the 
altars  smouldering  flames  rise  towards  heaven,  and 


XTbe  pastoral  plai?  713 


pale  mortals  lay  white  wreaths  at  the  feet  of  almighty 
Eros.  Here  women  raise  their  hands  beseechingly  to 
Satan,  praying  him  to  reveal  to  them  the  secret  of  a 
new  sensation ;  here  a  couple  in  mad  haste  rush  to  the 
fountain  of  love,  and  the  youth  drinks  eagerly  of  the 
water  which  Cupid  gives  him.  It  is  no  accident  that 
this  was  the  time  of  spiritualism  and  wonderful  elixirs ; 
when  distinguished  gentleman  became  alchemists  and 
locked  themselves  up  in  the  laboratories  in  hopeless 
endeavour  to  discover  the  secrets  of  life  and  death;  that 
the  saints  of  this  age  were  those  charlatans  who  pro- 
mised an  elixir  of  life  to  weary,  effete  mortals.  Frago- 
nard's  pleasure  in  sturdy  children  resembles  what 
Wagner  felt  when  he  brewed  the  homunculus  in  his 
retort.  It  is  no  accident  that  pictures  of  prophets  now 
became  so  popular;  for  all  felt  that  the  future  con- 
cealed something  gloomy.  A  light  sentimentality,  a 
mournful  melancholy  pervades  Fragonard's  last  works. 
The  roses,  once  so  red,  are  grey  as  ashes.  The  joyous 
carnival  of  the  Rococo  was  at  an  end,  and  Ash  Wednes- 
day had  dawned  with  penance  and  fasting. 


\D1I1F.  XTbe  pastoral  ipla^,  ^Bourgeois  anD  Bntlaue 

It  is  with  the  centuries  as  with  individuals:  when 
they  approach  their  end,  they  hold  inward  com- 
munion and  repent  of  the  follies  of  their  youth. 
So  it  had  been  at  the  close  of  the  quattrocento,  when 
the  proud  paganism  of  the  Renaissance  was  followed  by 


714  TTbe  Hrt  of  jf ranee 

the  gloomy  Counter-reformation;  at  the  close  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  when  the  Roi  Soleil  paced  from 
the  magnificent  halls  of  his  palace  to  the  confessional. 
For  the  eighteenth  century  the  appearance  of  Rousseau 
had  a  similar  significance. 

At  the  middle  of  the  century  epicureanism  had 
attained  an  unsurpassable  refinement.  All  pleasures 
of  life  had  been  exhausted,  and  the  moment  had  now 
come  when,  after  the  sparkling  champagne,  the  desire 
for  simple  nourishment  was  awakened;  when  after 
over-refinement  and  frivolity  men  dreamed  themselves 
back  in  a  happy  condition  of  simplicity  and  virtue. 
In  the  midst  of  the  time  of  highest  culture  there  ap- 
peared a  man  who  branded  this  culture  as  worthless, 
and  who,  in  contrast  with  the  over-refinement  and 
effeminacy  which  he  saw  about  him,  praised  in  glowing 
colours  the  primeval  condition  of  the  savage.  As 
Tacitus  extolled  the  ancient  Germans  to  the  Romans 
of  the  decadence,  so  Rousseau  held  up  as  an  example 
to  the  aristocratic  world  of  the  eighteenth  century  the 
natural  man,  who  in  his  virtue  puts  to  shame  the  civil- 
ised man.  Only  where  people  have  few  wants  and  are 
honest,  where  under  natural  conditions  natural  .men 
and  women  cling  to  each  other  in  true  love,  is  true 
happiness  to  be  found.  With  tears  in  his  eyes  he 
depicts  the  life  of  the  plain  people ;  all  those  charms  of 
quiet  home  life  which  the  whirlpool  of  society  had 
destroyed;  those  sweet  cares  for  house  and  child,  for 
garden  and  field,  which,  though  cares,  also  afford 


TTbe  pastoral  plap  715 


happiness.  To  these  conditions  of  paradisiac  innocence 
the  aristocratic  world  must  return;  it  must  again  learn 
from  the  people  what  it  had  lost  in  the  current  of  over 
culture.  Earnestly  he  advises  mothers  themselves  to 
give  the  child  its  first  nourishment,  for  only  with 
mother's  milk  is  filial  love  imbibed.  He  also  exhorts 
people  to  piety.  Voltaire,  the  Mephistopheles  of  the 
century,  had  only  clever  mockery  for  religion ;  Rousseau 
again  substituted  faith  for  doubt. 
Voltaire  ridiculed  the  apostle  with  these  words: 
After  having  read  your  work  one  feels  inclined  to 
walk  on  all  fours.  As  I  have  been  out  of  this  habit 
for  the  last  sixty  years,  I  unfortunately  feel  that  it  is 
impossible  for  me  to  resume  it;  and  I  leave  this 
natural  locomotion  to  those  who  are  more  adapted 
to  it  than  you  and  I."  The  rest  of  the  world 
was  inspired  by  Rousseau's  writings,  and  ladies 
especially  adopted  the  new  ideas.  Flirtations  with 
aesthetic  abb^s  had  after  a  while  become  tiresome. 
They  longed  for  new  sensations,  and  Rousseau 
gratified  this  longing.  It  was  so  charming  after 
having  so  long  been  fashionable  ladies  to  play  the 
role  of  mothers;  so  piquant  to  satisfy  the  wants  of  a 
child  in  the  midst  of  brilliant  social  functions  and 
adored  by  the  eyes  of  cavaliers.  The  religious  feeling 
also  awoke.  After  free-thinking  materialism,  it  seemed 
new  and  distinguished  to  do  homage  to  sentimental 
religion.  They  had  heretofore  passed  the  time  in  idle 
pleasure;  it  now  seemed  to  be  demanded  by  good  tone 


7i6  XTbe  Hrt  of  If  ranee 


to  knit  children's  garments  for  charity  bazars  and  to 
distribute  cakes  among  handsome  beggar  boys  from 
Savoy.  These  elegant  women  of  the  world  sprinkled 
their  heads  with  ashes  and  begged  forgiveness  for 
their  former  sins.  They  went  into  the  homes  of  the 
poor,  took  the  children  in  their  arms,  and  loaded  them 
with  the  strangest  presents,  with  cast-off  silken  shawls 
and  knitted  silken  purses.  They  knelt  before  the  altar 
and  took  part  in  religious  processions.  The  melody 
played  upon  the  piano  was  no  longer  scherzo  vivace, 
but  sentimental.  Religious  concerts  and  Gluck's  ora- 
tories were  produced  at  the  Tuilleries.  The  orgies 
of  the  Palais  Royal  were  inevitably  followed  by  orgies 
of  morality;  the  gallant  pastoral  plays  by  pastorals  of 
virtue. 

Diderot  was  the  first  to  give  to  the  thoughts  of 
Rousseau  a  dramatic  form.  With  his  family  dramas 
Lee  pre  de  famille  and  L'  honnete  femme  he  brought  the 
iragedie  bourgeoise  and  comedie  larmoyante  into  fashion. 
As  the  public  had  formerly  taken  pleasure  in  the 
frivolous  dramas  of  C^rbillon  and  Gretry's  comic 
operas,  in  Zemire  and  A{or,  in  Aucassin  and  Nicolette, 
they  now  listened  with  delight  to  these  tearful  dramas 
which  in  such  a  touching,  edifying,  and  virtuous  manner 
extolled  the  life  of  the  middle  classes.  Even  science 
was  moved  by  the  current.  La  tendresse  de  Louis  XIV. 
pour  sa  famille  was  the  theme  of  the  prize  composition 
offered  in  1753  by  the  Academy  of  Sciences,  i^s- 
thetics  followed  the  same  paths.    Art  must  not  amuse 


TLbc  pastoral  plai?  717 


but  improve,  must  create  examples  to  encourage  the 
good  and  warn  against  the  evil.  Only  moral  sculpture 
and  painting  could  now  be  used.  Every  painting  and 
every  statue  must  express  a  great  maxim  and  be  a 
lesson  for  the  beholder. 

For  the  older  artists  this  meant  ruin.  Boucher, 
in  particular,  the  painter  of  graces  and  of  the 
frivolous  court  of  Cythera,  felt  bitterly  the  change  in 
taste.  In  his  portrait  by  the  Swede  Roslin  in  1760 
he  is  no  longer  a  brilliant  cavalier,  the  frequenter  of 
the  opera,  whom  Lundberg  painted  in  1743.  Weary 
lines  are  written  upon  his  countenance,  and  there  is 
something  uncertain  and  restless  in  his  glance.  Like  a 
tiger,  Diderot  had  pounced  upon  him :  it  was  a  disgrace 
still  to  be  compelled  to  view  pictures  by  a  man  who 
openly  passed  his  life  with  prostitutes;  who  had  lost 
all  ideas  of  honesty  and  innocence,  and  who  only  lived 
in  this  virtuous  epoch  as  a  warning  example  against 
moral  turpitude. 

To  these  sentiments  Greuze  gave  the  artistic  ex- 
pression. While  Boucher  and  Fragonard  had  catered 
to  the  piquant  pleasures  of  aristocratic  men  of  the 
world,  the  picture  became  in  his  hands  a  moral  sermon. 
Like  the  philosopher  and  romancer,  he  proclaim.s  the 
doctrine  that  pure  unadorned  tenderness  lives  only 
in  the  cottage,  and  that  here  alone  can  be  found  the 
life  which  makes  men  truly  happy.  Like  Diderot's 
writings,  his  paintings  show  the  intentional  endeavour 
to  excite  moral  emotion;  they  always  contain  the 


7i8  XTbe  Hrt  of  jfrance 


practical  application:  Hcec  fahula  docet.  As  the 
aristocratic  world  after  its  orgies  of  sensuality  had 
become  sentimental  and  tearful,  Greuze's  life  was  a 
continuous  triumphal  procession.  The  whole  age 
wept  virtuous  tears  with  him  over  the  reward  of  the 
good  and  the  punishment  of  the  evil.  The  life  of 
the  people  had  been  seldom  portrayed  in  aristocratic 
France;  for  la  canaille  was  a  subject  rather  of  ridicule 
than  glorification.  In  his  twelve  etchings  published 
under  the  title  of  Cris  de  Paris,  Boucher  had  por- 
trayed certain  types  of  the  great  city— the  peddler,  the 
organ-grinder,  the  milk-woman;  but  they  were  curious 
beings  who  caused  merriment  when  their  harsh  voices 
sounded  from  the  street.  Now,  under  the  aegis  of 
Rousseau's  philosophy,  the  third  estate  enters  art. 
Men  discover  that  the  Arcadia  which  had  formerly 
been  sought  far  off  on  Robinson  Crusoe's  island  could 
also  be  found  close  at  hand.  They  were  charmed  to 
be  instructed  about  the  honesty  of  the  people,  and 
were  so  tired  of  the  perfume  of  the  salons  that  they 
breathed  with  pleasure  the  odours  of  the  dogs,  cats, 
and  chickens  which  shared  without  restraint  the 
dwellings  of  these  good  people. 

His  first  picture,  the  Father  of  a  Family  Reading 
the  Bible  to  his  Children  (1755)  made  him  a  cele- 
brated master.  The  entire  aristocratic  world  pressed 
to  see  the  work,  because  it  seemed  so  new,  after  the 
clever  atheism  of  the  philosophers,  to  hear  of  the 
simple  piety  of  such  honest  peasants.    The  numerous 


JEAN  BAPTISTE  GREUZE 


THE  BROKEN  PITCHER 

Louvre 


XTbe  pastoral  pla^  719 


progeny  here  depicted  also  created  a  profound  impres- 
sion. Although  the  women  of  the  Rococo  had  thought 
very  lightly  of  the  joys  of  motherhood,  now,  as  is  shown 
by  the  memoirs  of  Marmontel,  the  ''Httle  man''  was 
also  envied  for  his  wealth  in  children.  Like  a  biblical 
patriarch,  he  holds  in  Greuze's  pictures  his  sceptre  in 
the  midst  of  a  hundred  descendants.  The  good  great- 
grandfather and  the  worthy  grandfather,  both  paternal 
and  maternal,  were  still  alive;  and  even  the  uncles, 
aunts,  and  cousins  find  a  home  in  this  model  family, 
of  which  all  the  members  cling  to  each  other  with 
devoted  tenderness.  Contrasted  with  the  intimate 
family  life  of  these  people,  all  social  pleasures  seemed 
to  these  distinguished  ladies  dismal  and  constrained. 
They  were  no  less  astonished  to  see  with  what  biblical 
solemnity  all  the  other  events  are  portrayed  in  these 
circles.  An  engagement  with  the  aristocracy  was  an 
indifferent  matter  of  business.  A  countess  became 
engaged  in  order  to  receive  additional  homage  as  a 
young  wife — a  matter  solved  by  signing  the  marriage 
contract  and  a  formal  kiss  from  her  fiance.  But  the 
common  people  still  believed  that  marriage  was  a 
holy  sacrament.  In  the  picture  of  the  Country 
Betrothal  which  Greuze  exhibited  in  1761,  twelve 
people  take  part.  With  solemn  gesture  the  father 
gives  the  dowry  to  his  son-in-law,  and  with  it  wise 
advice,  solemn  rules  to  be  followed  upon  the  journey  of 
life.  Bashful  and  loving,  the  young  girl  Hnks  her 
arm  with  that  of  her  lover,  while  the  good  mother 


720  Ubc  Hrt  of  JFtance 


whispers  comforting  words  in  her  ear.  In  awed  aston- 
ishment, as  if  she  were  a  superior  being,  the  younger 
sisters  gaze  upon  her. 

"God  speed  you,  dear  Greuze!  Remain  moral,  and 
when  the  moment  of  your  death  draws  nigh  there  will 
be  not  one  of  your  pictures  of  which  you  need  think 
with  repentance.''  With  these  words  Diderot  saluted 
Greuze's  following  picture,  the  Paralytics,  when  it  ap- 
peared in  the  Salon  in  1763.  He  here  reveals  the  de- 
voted care  which,  in  accordance  with  the  biblical 
command,  the  children  of  the  bourgeoisie  took  of  their 
parents.  "Honour  thy  father  and  thy  mother,  that 
thy  days  may  be  long  in  the  land  which  the  Lord  thy 
God  giveth  thee":  such  is  the  theme  of  the  two 
pictures  the  Father's  Curse  and  the  Punished  Son. 
Like  an  Olympian  Zeus,  the  father  thunders  his  paternal 
curse  upon  his  erring  son;  his  mother  bursts  into  tears, 
and  the  younger  children  look  tearfully  and  timidly 
upon  the  culprit.  Time  passes;  and  after  he  has 
found  that  only  with  a  father's  blessing  can  children 
prosper,  the  son  returns  repentant  to  his  father's 
house.  In  the  second  picture  he  stands  with  quaking 
knees,  like  a  beggar,  on  the  paternal  threshold  to  seek 
forgiveness;  but  it  is  too  late,  his  father  is  dead.  With 
a  tragic  gesture  the  mother  points  to  the  corpse,  about 
which  the  sobbing  children  and  grandchildren  stand. 

Greuze  even  intended  to  paint  an  entire  romance  of 
twenty-six  pictures,  treating,  under  the  title  Battle 
and  Thihaut,  the  influence  of  good  and  bad  bringing- 


XTbe  pastoral  plai?  721 


up;  it  was  to  conclude  with  the  condemnation  of  the 
murderer  Thibaut  by  his  friend  the  judge  Bazile. 
This  undertaking  was  never  carried  out;  but  in  the 
next  Salon  he  exhibited  two  pictures  treating  the 
theme  of  maternal  duties  in  the  spirit  of  Rousseau. 
A  young  mother  gives  her  child  to  a  nurse,  and  with 
hot  tears  on  part  of  the  whole  family,  the  parting 
takes  place.  In  the  next  picture  the  baby  returns,  a 
sturdy  lad,  into  the  house  of  his  parents;  but  he  does 
not  recognise  his  mother  and  longs  for  his  nurse.  The 
moral,  of  course,  was  that  only  women  who  themselves 
practise  the  maternal  duty  can  be  sure  of  the  love  of 
their  children. 

The  young  mother  occupied  with  her  child  was  a 
favourite  theme  of  Greuze.  He  painted  her  giving 
her  baby  the  breast,  or  sitting  at  the  cradle,  full  of 
tender  thoughts,  beside  her  husband.  Indeed  even 
when  the  theme  is  not  young  motherhood,  he  constantly 
points  out  that  this  is  the  mission  of  woman.  The  little 
girl  plays  with  a  doll ;  because  care  is  to  be  taken  that 
even  in  a  baby  a  feeling  of  motherhood  shall  be  awak- 
ened. She  wears  no  deforming  corset,  in  order  that 
the  bosom  may  fully  develop.  While  the  woman  of 
the  Rococo  remained  all  her  life  a  young  girl,  Greuze's 
women  are  already  mothers.  La  laiti^re  is  the  occa- 
sional title.  A  close  psychological  connection  exists 
between  the  appearance  of  the  young  ladies  and  their 
rustic  pleasure  of  milking  the  cows  early  in  the  morning. 
They  are  either  fair  or  dark,  and  wear  a  blue  or  a 
46 


722  Ube  Hrt  ot  jf ranee 


red  band  in  their  hair;  their  great  brown  eyes  aie 
pouting  or  foreboding.  The  effect,  however,  is  always 
calculated  upon  the  contrast  between  the  bright, 
gleaming  and  childlike  eyes  which  appear  so  innocent 
and  inexperienced  and  the  fully  developed  forms  of 
ripe  womanhood. 

In  Greuze's  works  Boucher's  ideal  of  beauty  has 
not  become  more  innocent  but  more  raffine:  with  this 
difference,  that  even  in  such  paintings  Greuze  remains 
a  moral  artist.  The  scene  of  a  young  girl  offering 
doves  to  Cupid  has  always  as  a  pendant  Mary  Magdalen, 
the  repentant  sinner,  praying  with  the  glance  of  a 
Niobe  to  heaven  for  forgiveness.  He  paints  not  the 
joys  of  sensuaHty,  but  the  sorrow  over  lost  innocence. 
The  poor  child  whose  jug  is  broken  looks  like  a  startled 
doe;  the  girl  who  has  let  her  mirror  fall  looks  perplexed 
and  inconsolable  upon  the  broken  fragments.  Robbed 
of  all  happiness  in  life  and  with  tearful  eyes,  another 
child  gazes  upon  its  dead  bird.  "Think  not,"  wrote 
Diderot,  "that  it  is  over  the  jug,  the  mirror,  or  the 
bird  that  they  weep.  These  young  girls  bewail  more, 
and  well  they  may." 

In  this  mixture  of  tearful  moraHty  and  perverse  raci- 
ness  Greuze  is  the  true  painter  of  his  day.  For  one  must 
not  believe  that  this  reformation  was  a  deep  one;  the 
simpHcity  and  virtue  were  only  a  show.  It  is  true 
that  the  Trianon,  Marie  Antoinette's  "Httle  Vienna,'* 
presented  externally  a  very  rustic  appearance.  At  the 
foot  of  a  wooded  hill,  on  the  bank  of  a  placid  pond. 


XTbe  pastoral  pla^  723 

a  row  of  peasants'  houses  extended.  There  was  a 
farmhouse  and  a  mill,  a  dairy  and  a  dovecote;  fisher- 
men and  washerwomen  laboured  in  the  vicinity.  The 
ladies  wore  straw  hats,  which  had  become  the  fashion 
through  the  taste  for  pastoral  scenes.  Upon  the 
meadows  the  king's  children  played  as  shepherds  and 
shepherdesses  with  their  sheep  and  goats.  But  in  the 
interior  of  the  Trianon  it  looked  exactly  as  in  the 
artificial  village  which  the  Prince  of  Conde  had  caused 
to  be  built  in  the  park  of  Chantilly.  There  also  were 
peasants'  houses,  a  mill,  a  barn,  a  stable,  and  a  village 
tavern;  but  none  of  the  buildings  actually  served 
the  purposes  which  its  exterior  announced.  The  inn 
contained  a  kitchen,  the  stable  a  library,  the  village 
tavern  a  billiard  room,  and  the  barn  an  elegant  bed- 
chamber with  two  boudoirs.  Likewise  in  the  Trianon 
a  whole  building  consisted  of  kitchens.  There  was 
a  kitchen  for  cold  dishes,  another  for  the  entremets,  a 
third  for  the  entrees,  a  fourth  for  the  ragouts,  a  fifth 
for  the  roasts,  a  sixth  for  pastry,  a  seventh  for  tarts. 
Gentlemen  could  only  appear  in  scarlet  uniform  with 
white,  gold-embroidered  vests.  The  barn  served  the 
purpose  of  a  great  ball-room.  Sometimes,  when  they 
danced  under  a  tent  upon  the  sward,  they  took  pleasure 
in  summoning  a  couple  of  sturdy  peasant  boys  from 
the  neighbourhood  that  they  might  laugh  over  their 
awkward  movements ;  but  otherwise  the  placard  de  par 
la  reine  excluded  from  the  park  in  its  greatest  extent 
every  one  who  had  not  the  right  to  appear  at  court. 


724  XTbe  Hrt  ot  jfrance 


Even  the  king  could  visit  the  queen  at  the 
Trianon  by  invitation  only. 

In  other  respects  they  held  fast  to  all  the  prescrip- 
tions of  etiquette.    The  levee  of  the  queen  still  took 
place  in  the  presence  of  the  court  ladies.    Her  court, 
comprising  four  hundred  and  ninety-six  items,  required 
a  yearly  outlay  of  45,000,000  francs;  the  sum  allowed 
for  gambling  was  300,000  francs,  the  sum  for  toilets 
120,000,  which,  however,  was  usually  exceeded  by 
140,000  francs.    Her  dignity  required  the  purchase  of 
twelve  great  robes  of  state,  twelve  fantastic  costumes, 
and  twelve  parade  costumes  for  each  of  the  four  seasons 
of  the  year.    In  a  single  year  three  hundred  necker- 
chiefs for  the  queen  were  bought  from  a  single  modiste. 
The  yearly  salary  of  a  hair-dresser  of  a  great  lady, 
Madame  Matignon,  was  240,000  francs.    At  that  time 
the  profession  of  the  hair-dressers  had  become  so  im- 
portant that  in  a  memorial  to  the  government  they 
requested  to  be  placed  on  the  same  social  footing  as  the 
artists;  for  like  the  painter,  the  hair-dresser  uses 
the  "formative  hand,  his  art  demands  genius  and  is 
therefore  a  free  and  liberal  art."     The  coiffures,  a 
yard  high,  were  adorned  with  ostrich  feathers  and 
rubies.    In  a  single  year  Marie  Antoinette  spent 
700,000  francs  for  diamonds,  and  presented  the  dauphin 
with  a  waggon  the  wheels  and  ornaments  of  which 
consisted  of  gilded  silver,  rubies,  and  sapphires.  The 
annual  allowance  for  the  candles  used  by  the  queen 
was  157,000  francs,  and  those  which  were  not  burnt 


XTbe  pastoral  plai?  725 


were  assigned  to  a  court  lady,  who  acquired  thereby 
a  yearly  income  of  50,000  francs.  And  that  morality, 
in  spite  of  external  appearances,  had  not  improved, 
is  evident  from  a  remark  of  the  Journal  des  ModeSt 
that  although  Louis  XVI.  had  no  mistresses,  others 
kept  masters. 

The  same  pretended  naturalness,  the  same  moral 
immorality  exists  in  Greuze's  pictures,  in  which  there 
lives  the  virtuous,  sentimental  person  as  the  closing 
eighteenth  century  dreamed  him  to  be.  Even  the 
artificiality  and  the  theatrical  affectation  of  his 
pictures  existed  also  in  the  spirit  of  the  time.  They 
thought  they  had  achieved  such  great  virtue  that  it 
must  be  proclaimed  with  declamatory  pathos.  They 
were  so  proud  to  have  remembered  the  disinherited 
that  they  shed  tears  of  commiseration  over  their  own 
goodness  of  heart.  In  tones  quite  as  unctuous  and 
quite  as  rich  in  phrases  as  Greuze,  authors  wrote  and 
statesmen  spoke  of  the  goodness  of  the  people.  All 
human  life  was  to  them  a  melodrama  which  ended  with 
the  victory  of  virtue  and  the  punishment  of  vice.  It 
was  certainly  a  cruel  irony  of  fate  that  history  under- 
took the  punishment  in  quite  a  different  spirit ;  that  all 
this  rose-coloured  dream  of  simplicity  and  innocence 
ended  in  blood;  and  that  the  "man  of  the  people*'  in 
no  wise  revealed  himself  as  gentle  and  pious  as 
aristocratic  society  had  conceived  him  to  be. 

This  idealisation  of  the  middle  classes  was  followed 
by  an  antique  pastoral  play:  for  the  longing  for  sim- 


726  trbe  Hrt  of  fvmcc 


plicity  was  one  of  the  most  promising  characteristics 
of  the  age;  Endeavouring  to  reconcile  Rousseau's 
ideal  of  simplicity  of  manners  with  the  yearning  for 
simple  form,  they  turned  from  the  Rococo  to  the 
Greeks,  and  dreamed  themselves  in  that  bucolic  era 
when  there  had  been  neither  powder,  bodices  nor 
crinolines,  but  the  women  moved  about  beautiful  as 
goddesses,  and  men,  syrinx  in  hand,  rested  beside 
their  flocks.  They  had  also  become  virtuous;  for 
which  reason  they  dressed  their  hair  d  la  Diane.  After 
the  appearance  of  Abbe  Barth^lemy's  Voyage  du 
jeune  Anacharsis,  all  Paris  changed  into  Athens. 
There  were  no  longer  balls,  but  Anacreontic  fetes. 
The  ladies'  girdles  were  adorned  with  red  figures  upon 
a  black  ground  in  the  style  of  Greek  vase  pictures; 
the  gentlemen  wore  hottes  d  la  grecque.  From  the 
dressmakers  the  fashion  extended  to  the  artist's  studio. 
Architects  began  to  study  Vitruvius,  and  to  give  their 
buildings  the  serene  beauty  of  line  of  the  Greek 
temples.  In  1755  Soufflot  built  the  Pantheon,  and  in 
1763  Grimm  wrote:  "For  several  years  men  have  been 
looking  for  antique  ornaments  and  forms.  The  prefer- 
ence for  them  is  so  general  that  everything  is  done  d  la 
grecque.  The  interior  and  the  exterior  of  the  houses, 
the  furniture,  the  goldsmith's  works — all  bear  the 
stamp  of  Greece."  Even  Diderot's  love  for  the  moral 
and  pathetic  picture,  such  as  Greuze  painted,  was 
supplemented  after  1760  with  an  inspiration  for  the 
antique.     He  gave    lectures  upon  antique  taste, 


Ubc  pastoral  play  727 


and  demanded  plastic  beauty  and  pure  simple 
line. 

The  last  years  of  Marie  Antoinette  were  the  time  of 
the  dimax  for  the  antique  pastoral  play.  She  wished 
to  become  "natural,"  and  found  the  models  of  this 
naturalness  in  the  Greeks.  Etiquette  was  therefore 
banished  from  the  Trianon;  she  chose  the  harp  as  her 
favourite  instrument,  and  prescribed  a  Grecian  cut  for 
her  clothes.  In  a  simple  white  muslin  robe,  a  white 
kerchief  tied  loosely  about  her  neck,  a  straw  hat  upon 
her  head,  and  a  cane  in  her  hand,  she  wandered,  accom- 
panied only  by  a  single  servant,  through  the  shady 
alleys  of  the  Trianon.  So  great  was  her  simplicity 
that  the  complaints  over  the  queen's  passion  for  dress 
were  replaced  by  the  wails  of  the  merchants,  that 
through  this  new  fashion  the  industries  of  the  land, 
and  especially  the  silk  trade  of  Lyons,  were  ruined. 

Vien,  who  sought  to  give  his  pictures  the  appearance 
of  antique  gems,  is  the  first  of  these  followers  of 
Anacreon,  and  the  antique  pastoral  play  is  reflected 
even  more  delicately  in  the  works  of  Madame  Vigee- 
Lebrun.  Her  studio  was  during  these  years  the  artistic 
centre  of  Paris,  where  all  the  great  men  of  diplomacy, 
literature,  and  the  theatre  met.  It  was  more  interesting 
to  be  portrayed  by  a  young  girl  than  by  a  dignified 
academician.  The  beautiful  woman  \^as  treasured  by 
these  great  men  even  more  than  the  clever  painter, 
Marie  Antoinette  also  and  the  court  ladies  sat  to  her. 
and  Mile.  Vigee  used  to  paint  them  as  goddesses, 


728  Ubc  Hrt  of  ifrance 


muses,  or  sibyls.  Later  she  married  the  rich  art  dealer 
Lebrun,  and  held  in  her  house  those  aesthetic  soupers 
d  la  grecque,  which  so  fmely  illumine  the  whole  epoch. 
"Everything — clothes,  customs,  food,  pleasures,  and 
table — ^was  Athenian.  Madame  Lebrun  herself  was 
Aspasia,  and  Monsieur  V  Abbe  Barthelemy,  in  the 
Greek  chiton  with  a  laurel  wreath  upon  his  head,  read 
a  poem.  Monsieur  de  Cubieres  as  Memnon  played 
upon  a  golden  lyre,  and  young  boys  as  slaves  waited 
upon  the  table.  The  table  itself  was  filled  only  with 
antique  vessels,  and  all  of  the  dishes  were  genuine 
Greek."  To  her  marriage  we  are  indebted  also  for  her 
most  beautiful  pictures — those  representing  her  with 
her  little  daughter.  The  example  in  the  Louvre, 
especially,  in  which  she  sits  embraced  by  her  child, 
seems  to  be  the  conception  of  a  divine  moment.  Just 
as  many  of  the  Tanagra  figurines  appear  as  if  they 
had  come  directly  from  Paris,  so  here  the  soft  grace  of 
the  Rococo  is  woven  with  Hellenic  simplicity  into  a 
charming  harmony.  Such  works  are  pervaded  by 
the  sentiment  of  a  Theocritean  age,  which  in  its  last 
moments  warms  itself  in  the  sunshine  of  an  ancient 
world  of  beauty  and  listens  dreamily  to  the  soft  tones 
of  the  syrinx,  while  below  already  reverberates  the 
rattle  of  the  drums  of  a  new  age. 


Cbaptet  tDIH 


Ube  Uriumpb  of  tbe  IBouraeotste 

HOWEVER  similar  they  seem  externally,  Greuze 
and  Hogarth  are  direct  antipodes.  While  in 
Greuze's  work  the  old  aristocratic  art  fmds  its 
last  expression,  in  Hogarth's,  for  a  second  time  in  the 
history  of  art,  the  voice  of  the  common  people  sounds. 
The  threads  which  the  Dutch  had  relinquished  in  the 
seventeenth  century  were  taken  up  anew,  and  never 
again  surrendered.  I n  the  seventeenth  century  Holland 
still  formed  an  isolated  domain  of  the  bourgeoisie  in  the 
midst  of  the  aristocratic  world;  but  the  prevalence  of 
the  monarchic  principle  was  such  that  the  art  which 
had  begun  bourgeois  ended  courtly.  Now  the  scale 
tips  towards  the  common  people.  One  piece  after 
another  falls  off  from  the  ancient  aristocratic  world; 
and  one  land  after  another  assists  in  the  foundation  of 
the  new  temple,  upon  which  we  are  building  to-day. 
In  the  preparation  of  the  great  middle-class  culture 
of  the  nineteenth  century,  England  was  called  to  be 
the  le  der.  For  even  in  the  eighteenth  century  this 
was  a  relatively  democratic  country,  and  had  carried 

729 


730        XTriumpb  of  tbe  JBouroeoisie 


out  the  idea  of  the  modern  free  state  at  a  time  when 
upon  the  continent  the  sultriness  of  the  coming  storm 
was  hardly  perceptible  in  the  atmosphere.  Despotic 
oppression  had  ceased  to  exist,  and  there  was  no  chasm 
between  the  nobility  and  the  middle  classes.  Every 
man  was  at  liberty  to  shape  his  personality  and  fate 
after  his  own  fashion. 

A  change  such  as  the  Restoration  of  1660  brought 
about  must  have  had  a  deep  influence  upon  the  moral 
formation  of  life.  It  seemed  as  if  suddenly  the  prisons 
had  been  thrown  open,  and  hordes  of  criminals  swept 
over  the  country.  The  restraint  of  an  earher  day 
was  followed  by  an  intoxication  of  viciousness  and  un- 
bridled dissipation.  In  revelry  and  riot,  with  assault 
and  murder,  England  celebrated  the  first  years  of  its 
Uberty.  All  London  was  full  of  pickpockets,  robbers, 
and  speculators,  and  gambling  reached  a  dizzy  height. 
English  officials,  grown  rich  in  India,  established 
oriental  harems.  The  theatre  also  followed  the  trend 
of  the  time.  The  obscene  comedies  of  Wycherley  and 
Congreve  have  nothing  in  common  with  the  dainty 
frivolity  of  the  French  plays.  From  them  speaks  the 
vulgar  crudity  of  the  plebeian  who  takes  pleasure  in 
wallowing  in  the  mire.  The  menagerie  of  the  passions 
was  let  loose,  and  in  the  enjoyment  of  liberty  all 
morality  was  lost. 

The  problem  of  the  education  of  this  new  race  of 
men  therefore  arose.  The  wild  years  of  youth  should 
be  followed  by  a  settled  manhood.    As  a  free' country 


731 


could  not  restrain  the  wild  unchained  flood  of  the 
popular  spirit  by  poHce  regulations,  improvements  had 
to  be  accomplished  along  pedagogical  lines.  In  this 
manner  can  be  best  explained  the  deep  moralising  tone 
which  henceforth  runs  through  English  intellectual 
life.  Collier  began  by  writing  his  book  upon  the  im- 
morality of  the  stage.  As  the  dramas  had  formerly 
been  coarse  and  vulgar,  they  now  became  moral  and 
didactic.  For  Southerne  as  for  Rowe,  the  stage  is  only 
a  means  of  exhibiting  in  the  clearest  method  possible  a 
general  rule  of  morals.  In  like  manner  Richard  Steele 
regarded  the  press  as  a  pulpit  of  moral  improvement. 
In  1709  appeared  the  first  number  of  the  Tatler,  in 
which  he  scourged  gluttony  and  drunkenness,  gam- 
bling and  the  abuse  of  married  life.  The  Tatler  was 
followed  in  171 1  by  the  Spectator,  and  this  by  the 
Guardian,  which  declared  as  its  programme  "to  im- 
plant as  deeply  as  possible  religion  and  morals  in  the 
soul  of  man,  to  exhibit  lofty  examples  of  filial  and 
parental  duty, — to  make  vice  hated  and  virtue  at- 
tractive." Richardson  founded  the  morahsing  family 
novel.  Under  the  influence  of  these  moralists  a  new 
spirit  entered  art.  Art  also,  it  was  said,  must  take 
part  in  the  problems  of  civilisation  which  the  epoch 
presents,  and  the  painter  must  become  a  portrayer 
of  the  morals  of  his  day;  the  same  programme  which 
in  the  nineteenth  century  Proudhon  announced  in  his 
book  Du  principe  de  V  art  et  de  sa  destination  sociale. 
Hogarth,  therefore,  is  like  Greuze  a  moral  preacher. 


732        TTriumpb  of  tbe  Bourgeoisie 


He  lingered  where  the  crowd  is  thickest ;  in  the  coffee- 
house where  the  politicians,  scholars,  soldiers,  mer- 
chants, and  money-changers  sit  together,  he  was  always 
to  be  found.  In  the  morning  he  went  to  the  Exchange, 
in  the  evening  to  the  theatre,  and  he  was  never  a  silent 
observer  but  a  judge.  He  paints,  like  Greuze,  pictures 
to  prove  single  paragraphs  of  the  moral  code;  with  this 
difference,  that  he  presents  his  messages  to  a  different 
public.  Greuze  did  not  attack  vice,  but  awakened 
sentimental  admiration  for  virtue.  He  uses  the  third 
estate  as  a  mirror  of  virtue,  whose  noble  qualities  are 
exhibited  for  the  edification  of  the  aristocracy.  Ho- 
garth, on  the  other  hand,  scourges  the  vices  of  the 
third  estate,  in  order  to  raise  its  own  morality.  He 
denounces  and  hurls  thunderbolts  at  the  execrescences 
of  modern  civilisation,  and  storms  against  drunken- 
ness and  libertinage.  In  contrast  to  France,  where  the 
life  of  the  people  only  served  to  create  a  melodramatic 
pastoral  play,  in  England  the  middle  classes  had  already 
become  a  factor  of  intellectual  life. 

His  sermons  began  with  the  six  paintings  for  the 
Harlot's  Progress.  Mary  Hackabout  comes  from  the 
country  to  seek  a  position  as  a  servant.  She  soon 
yields  to  the  temptation,  becomes  the  mistress  of  a 
Jewish  banker,  then  the  accomplice  of  a  pickpocket, 
and  finally  ends  in  a  house  of  prostitution.  A  second 
cycle,  the  Rake's  Progress,  treats  in  eight  pictures  the 
similar  course  of  life  of  a  young  man.  As  a  student  in 
Oxford,  he  had  promised  marriage  to  a  young  girl, 


Bnglant) 


733 


when  the  death  of  a  rich  uncle  drew  him  into  the 
whirlpool  of  London  life.  As  a  favourite  with  women, 
a  hero  in  sports,  he  went  the  way  to  ruin,  but  again 
recouped  his  finances  by  marriage  with  an  elderly  lady, 
whose  money  he  gambled  away,  and  he  ended  a  mad- 
man in  a  debtor's  prison.  Only  the  love  of  his  student 
days,  Sarah  Young,  whom  he  had  so  cruelly  deserted  at 
Oxford,  thought  of  her  betrayer  and  visited  him  in  the 
madhouse.  The  Manage  d  la  mode  of  1745  is  the  acme 
of  his  moralizing  activity.  A  lord  loaded  with  debts 
married  his  son  to  the  daughter  of  a  rich  shopkeeper 
of  the  city.  After  the  birth  of  a  little  girl,  each  fol- 
lowed his  own  inclination,  until  the  husband  surprised 
the  wife  with  a  lover,  by  whom  he  was  stabbed;  and 
the  young  widow  returned  to  the  dulness  of  her  father's 
house,  to  end  her  life  by  poison  when  she  heard  of  her 
lover's  execution.  In  his  last  series  he  devoted  himself 
entirely  to  the  cure  of  souls  and  to  criminal  subjects. 
The  cycle  of  Industry  and  Idleness  of  1747  includes 
twelve  designs  which  were  only  published  as  line 
engravings  and  distributed  as  a  weekly  sermon  to 
labourers.  Two  apprentices  are  at  the  same  time  in- 
dentured to  a  clothier.  The  diligent  one  marries  the 
daughter  of  the  proprietor,  becomes  alderman  and 
lord  mayor  of  London,  while  the  lazy  one.  pursuing  the 
opposite  course,  becomes  a  vagabond  and  a  murderer. 
The  two  comrades  meet  for  the  last  time  when  the  good 
one  pronounces  the  death  sentence  over  his  erring 
friend. 


734 


XTrtuntpb  ot  tbe  JBourgeoisie 


Whether  art  remains  art  when  it  descends  to  the 
level  of  pedagogical  science  is  in  itself  a  question;  but 
the  problem  which  Hogarth  attempted  he  solved  in 
a  drastic  manner.  Since  he  did  not,  like  Greuze; 
labour  for  fme  marquises  and  dainty  countesses,  but  for 
Englishmen,  he  could  only  attain  his  end  by  heavily 
underlining  his  thoughts.  Indulgent  consideration  was 
out  of  place,  and  everything  is  applied  with  a  coarse 
brush.  While  Greuze  endeavoured  to  create  a  pleasant 
impression,  Hogarth,  like  a  sturdy  policeman  and  a 
puritanical  bourgeois,  mercilessly  swings  the  heavy 
club  of  morals  over  human  beasts.  He  leaves  no  door 
open  for  sentimental  repentance,  but  shows  vice  in 
all  its  coarseness,  rolls  it  in  the  mud,  and  drags  it  to 
punishment.  The  wheel  and  the  gallows  tower  in  the 
background  of  all  his  works;  and  as  the  new,  plebeian 
world  required  from  art  nothing  further  than  weekly 
sermons,  he  was  praised  not  only  as  an  educator,  but 
also  as  a  great  painter. 

The  two  portrait-painters  Reynolds  and  Gains- 
borough introduce  us  into  the  circles  which  conducted 
this  popular  education.  Hogarth  is  the  commoner,  the 
bulldog,  the  incarnation  of  John  Bull;  they  are  the 
painters  of  distinguished  gentlemen.  The  most  cele- 
brated men  and  the  most  beautiful  women  sat  to 
them.  But  with  all  their  distinction,  it  is  even  here 
evident  that  we  are  confronting  the  people  of  a  new 
era.  The  French  portraits  represent  affable  and  refined 
ministers,  gallant  and  dainty  archbishops,  perfumed  and 


735 


charming  marquises,  who  move  with  elegant  lightness 
upon  the  floor  of  the  ball-room,  whose  wide  brow  is 
never  saddened  by  a  serious  thought.  All  are  joyful 
and  fond  of  life  and  of  an  enervating,  effeminate 
elegance;  they  have  the  stereotyped  smile  of  an  edu- 
cated politeness  upon  their  lips,  and  the  faded  dehcate 
faces  of  men  who  live  more  in  the  salon  than  in  the 
open  air:  whose  costly  toilette  is  not  made  for  the  hunt 
and  sport,  for  wind  and  weather;  who  never  move  about 
on  foot  but  only  in  the  carriage  or  sedan  chair.  Even 
with  the  French  bourgeoisie,  clothing  and  bearing  are 
thoroughly  aristocratic;  they  ape  the  distinguished, 
smiling,  powdered,  and  affected  air  of  the  marquise. 
The  very  scholars  deny  their  profession.  They  are 
never  represented  in  the  professor's  chair  or  in  their 
study,  lecturing  or  working  with  book  or  pen  at  hand, 
but  have  the  faces  of  diplomats  and  mouths  wreathed 
with  an  obliging  smile;  they  wish  to  appear  not  as 
specialists  but  as  polished  men  of  the  world. 

In  England,  during  the  same  period,  a  great  rise  of 
literature  and  the  drama  commenced.  Burke  had 
written  his  essay  On  the  Sublime  and  the  Beautiful, 
Sterne,  Tristam  Shandy  and  the  Sentimental  Journey, 
Johnson,  his  Dictionary,  Fielding,  the  History  of  Tom 
Jones,  Smollett,  Peregrine  Pickle;  Richardson,  the 
author  of  Clarissa  Harlowe,  had  reached  the  acme  of 
his  popular  descriptions,  Oliver  Goldsmith  had  com- 
pleted the  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  and  Gibbon  was  writing 
his  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire;  Garrick,  the 


73^        Uriumpb  of  tbe  Bourgeoisie 


actor,  was  at  the  height  of  his  fame.  Pictures  of 
such  writers  and  artists  predominate  among  Reynolds's 
and  Gainsborough's  portraits.  They  are  no  diplomats, 
but  sit  at  the  work-table.  One  plunges  his  pen  into 
the  ink,  another,  who  is  short-sighted,  holds  his  book 
close  under  his  nose.  His  hands  are  uncared  for,  his 
toilette  neglected.  But  one  sees  thoughtful,  expressive 
heads:  men  whose  brows  show  deep  reflection  over  all 
the  problems  which  the  new  age  had  called  forth. 

Parliamentarians,  rich  merchants,  weather-beaten 
sea-bears,  clergymen,  and  soldiers  are  also  represented; 
and  they  too  in  no  wise  resemble  the  pale  aristocrats  of 
the  ancien  regime,  but  are  a  race  more  coarsely  built 
and  with  less  delicate  features:  many  of  the  faces  are 
even  red  and  puffed,  with  round  noses  and  eyes  of 
cool  determination;  and  the  sturdy  attitude  is  full  of 
self-conscious  dignity  and  coarse-grained  pride.  Here 
stands  a  general,  coarse,  fleshy,  and  broad  shouldered, 
with  a  red,  butcher's  face,  a  brutal  man  of  power;  there 
a  clergyman,  short  and  sturdy,  with  rosy  cheeks  and 
energetic  glance.  In  none  of  them  does  one  encounter 
an  affable  smile,  fmely  cut  nostrils,  white  hands,  and 
dainty  elegance.  If  along  with  the  middle  classes 
rugged  country  squires  occasionally  appear,  they  too 
possess  something  of  this  coarse,  full-blooded  power 
of  life.  The  garments  of  simple  dark  cloth  which  have 
replaced  velvet  and  silk  also  announce  the  dawn  of  a 
new  era. 

The  women,  notwithstanding  all  their  elegance,  have 


PORTRAIT  OF  DR.  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

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36nQlan^ 


737 


nothing  in  common  with  the  Frenchwomen  of  the 
eighteenth  century.  The  French  aristocratic  lady 
Hved  in  the  salon,  and  sat  for  her  portrait  in  the  toilette 
which  she  wore  at  the  ball  or  in  the  theatre,  set  off  by 
the  dazzling  light  of  candles.  In  Gainsborough's  por- 
trait, Mrs.  Siddons  is  represented  in  street  costume, 
a  great  hat  upon  her  head,  muff  in  hand,  and  no  pearls 
but  a  simple  band  of  silk  about  her  neck.  Thus  the 
ladies  who  endeavoured  to  make  an  art  of  life  are 
followed  by  the  actresses,  and  these  actresses  have 
already  become  great  ladies.  Her  forehead  is  high 
and  broad,  and  the  earnest  eyes,  with  the  brows  severely 
drawn  together,  announce  the  progress  of  women 
during  the  following  century.  While  with  the  French 
the  predominant  trait  is  still  worldly  joy  and  a  soft 
sensuality,  we  already  find  here  the  intelligent  eman- 
cipated woman,  prepared  to  be  the  rival  of  man  in  all 
branches  of  intellectual  activity.  Even  the  character 
of  the  pose  is  characteristic;  there  the  attitude  of  the 
lady  of  the  castle  who  makes  no  visits  but  only  receives, 
here  that  of  the  lady  who  has  just  come  from  the  street 
from  a  short  visit  with  a  friend. 

For  other  portraits  it  is  characteristic  that  the  scene 
is  never  laid  in  the  city,  but  usually  in  the  country. 
Sport,  reading,  and  country  life — things  which  the 
Frenchwoman  did  not  yet  know — are  the  leading 
motives  of  these  pictures.  The  lady  sits  in  the  park  of 
her  country  estate  under  lofty  trees  and  dreams  with  a 
novel  upon  her  knee;  not  perfumed,  but  fresh  and 
48 


738        Urtumpb  of  tbe  3Bouroeoiste 


dainty,  her  hair  breathing  the  fragrance  of  the  woods 
and  her  face  shaded  by  a  broad  straw  hat.  Her  hand 
ghdes  mechanically  over  the  back  of  a  great  St.  Bernard 
lying  at  her  feet.  Sometimes  she  looks  up  to  watch 
the  games  of  her  children,  for  in  contrast  to  the  French- 
women, she  always  conducts  their  education.  Rejoic- 
ing in  their  romps  with  a  little  dog,  they  dash  across 
the  turf  towards  her.  The  mother  takes  the  youngest 
daughter,  kisses  her  and  arranges  her  hair,  dishevelled 
by  the  wind.  In  France  the  boys  are  already  little 
gentlemen,  the  girls  little  ladies  who  strut  with  solemn 
mien  at  the  side  of  their  nurse.  Their  costly  clothing, 
their  powdered  hair,  admits  of  no  romping.  Their 
movements  are  measured  and  elegant,  not  of  un- 
conscious childishness,  but  of  that  studied  grace  which 
the  minuet  demands. 

In  England  there  was  such  no  "corset  education.'' 
The  babies  are  true  children  of  nature,  who,  unfettered 
as  the  wind,  romp  about  the  woods.  They  fetch  their 
mother  to  go  to  the  chicken-coop  with  them  to  feed  the 
poultry;  or  they  clap  their  hands  and  rush  towards 
her  when  she  returns  from  her  ride,  whip  in  hand, 
leading  the  horse  by  the  bridle.  If  the  French  por- 
traits are  suffused  in  the  close  air  of  the  salon,  these 
breathe  the  pure  country  air,  the  fragrance  of  the 
meadows  and  the  woods.  The  landscape,  also,  in 
which  they  move,  has  nothing  in  common  with  the 
French.  While  the  park  style  of  Le  Notre  shows 
the  sovereign  will  regulating  and  directing  everything, 


739 


the  English  style  of  gardening,  corresponding  to  the 
taste  of  a  free  people,  leaves  nature  unrestrained, 
except  that  it  ennobles  her  and  softness  her  wildness, 
just  as  the  cultured  classes  sought  to  transform  the 
wild,  natural  man  into  a  well-bred  bourgeois. 

With  Gainsborough  this  English  element  is  even  more 
clearly  expressed  than  with  Reynolds;  for  Reynolds, 
the  thinker  and  the  brooder,  did  not  regard  his  models 
with  a  quite  unprejudiced,  eye,  but  saw  them  through 
the  medium  of  the  older  masters.  Like  the  ItaUans 
of  the  seventeenth  century  he  loved  to  represent  his 
sitters  in  mythological  or  historical  costume:  as  when 
he  painted  the  actress  Mrs.  Siddons  as  St.  Cecilia,  and 
the  actor  Garrick  between  the  allegorical  figures  of 
Tragedy  and  Comedy.  »  In  colour  and  pose  also  he 
sought  to  impart  to  his  sitters  a  resemblance  to  the 
men  of  the  Renaissance,  a  sort  of  typical,  classical 
air.  The  pictures  of  Gainsborough  are  purely  the 
expression  of  an  Englishman.  They  are  attuned  not 
to  the  warm  brown  tones  of  the  old  masters,  but  to  a 
light  greenish,  blue  scale.  Though  not  radiant  with 
the  splendour  of  the  Renaissance,  they  yet  possess  the 
fme  native  flavour  which  is  to-day  characteristic  of 
the  English  school. 

The  two  painters  also  differ  in  this  respect,  that 
Reynolds,  when  he  had  no  portrait  sitters,  painted 
historical  pictures,  Gainsborough  landscapes.  But 
while  the  historical  paintings  of  the  President  of  the 
Academy  (the  Death  oj  Dido,  the  Continence  of  Scipio, 


740        XTriumpb  of  tbe  Bouroeoisie 

Cupid  and  Venus)  point  back  to  the  seventeenth 
century,  Gainsborough  is  justly  celebrated  as  the  pre- 
decessor of  the  great  landscape  painters  of  the  nine- 
teenth century. 

Literature  had  proceeded  along  these  paths.  As 
early  as  1727,  when  Le  Notre  still  dominated  taste  in 
France,  Thomson's  Spring  had  appeared,  in  which  the 
author  sings  of  cosy  and  idyllic  forest  shades,  of  the 
brightness  of  the  meadows,  of  the  green  exuberance  of 
the  English  soil  and  the  song  of  the  birds.  Gains- 
borough translated  Thomson  into  painting.  Along 
with  Wilson,  the  imitator  of  Claude  Lorrain,  he  ranks 
as  the  earliest  English  landscape  painter.  His  native 
town,  Sudbury,  Hes  in  the  midst  of  the  fresh,  green 
English  nature.  Little  brooks  flow  through  softly 
rolling  country;  wide  meadows  alternate  with  smiling 
valleys  and  enclosed  parks,  where  stags  and  does  are 
at  pasture,  approaching  curiously  when  the  train  rushes 
past.  Fragrant  lindens  rise  dreamily  in  the  soft  park- 
like landscape,  through  which  Uke  a  silver  ribbon  the 
Stour  winds.  Here  Gainsborough  wandered  as  a  lad, 
and  what  he  learned  to  love  in  his  youth,  he  painted 
later.  His  landscapes  do  not  possess  dramatic 
grandeur  and  are  not  stages  for  pastoral  plays,  but 
a  romping-place  for  children  and  a  place  of  repose  for 
the  herds.  High  trees  stretch  their  branches  protect- 
ingly  over  lonely  cottages,  before  whose  doors  little 
children  play,  or  a  peasant  returns  from  the  woods  with 
his  bundle  of  fagots.    Dark  green  stretches  of  turf 


Ube  BnUgbtenment  741 


and  waving  fields  of  wheat  extend  to  view:  goats,  with 
their  young,  graze  upon  the  meadow.  There  is  in  his 
works  the  glad  feeling  of  the  inhabitant  of  the  city  who 
comes  from  the  dirt  of  London  into  the  fresh,  green 
country.  Through  pictures  like  these  England  became 
the  home  of  "intimate''  landscape  painting,  that 
delicate,  refined,  modest  art,  which  only  the  Hfe  of  a 
great  city  could  produce.  Both  in  literature  and  in 
art  England  had  shown  the  other  nations  the  way. 

irir.  Zhc  jSnltabtenment 

Beginning  with  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  the  English  influence  fructified  the 
Continent.  There  also  war  was  declared  upon 
the  past;  in  all  domains  of  intellectual  life  new  condi- 
tions were  sought;  and  the  rise  of  the  middle  classes 
began.  Naturally  this  emancipation  could  not  be 
accomplished  in  peaceful  repose.  All  the  struggles 
which  England  had  experienced  in  the  seventeenth 
century  had  to  be  fought  out  afresh  upon  the  continent. 
The  second  half  of  the  eighteenth  century,  therefore, 
signifies  for  their  people  the  stormy  time  in  which  the 
old  and  the  new  were  separated. 

In  literature  Germany  assumed  the  leadership.  As 
formerly  the  German  courts  had  taken  pride  in  being 
little  copies  of  Versailles,  so  now  the  simplicity  and 
naturalness  of  English  customs  became  the  fashion. 
The  epoch  of  August  the  Strong  and  Countess  Konigs- 
marck  was  immediately  followed  by  an  age  to  which 


742        Urlumpb  of  tbe  Bouroeoisie 


good,  honest,  moral  Gellert  gave  the  tone.  Of  English 
authors  Smollett,  Sterne,  Richardson,  and  Goldsmith 
found  a  wide  vogue.  In  contrast  to  the  custom  of 
allowing  only  princes  and  generals  the  right  of  tragic 
dignity,  the  drama  now  assumed  a  bourgeois  character. 
In  place  of  treating  only  kings  and  statesmen,  the 
scene  of  tragedies  began  to  be  laid  in  middle-class 
circles;  and  with  the  predominance  of  the  bourgeoisie 
sober,  didactic,  and  easily  understood  presentation 
came  also  from  England  to  Germany. 

Then  a  further  change  of  scene,  and  the  age  of 
philistine  moralising  was  followed  by  one  of  wild 
geniality.  After  the  spiritual  horizon  had  been  wid- 
ened, an  actuality  was  revealed  to  them  which  had 
nothing  in  common  with  what  they  had  dreamed  about. 
They  longed  to  escape  from  the  pedantic,  the  artificial, 
and  the  social  hierarchy,  to  the  "brooks  and  sources  of 
life."  They  wished  to  begin  anew,  raved  about  prim- 
eval men,  and  sought  to  resemble  them  in  power  and 
daring  boldness.  They  took  delight  in  mad  stories  and 
wild  rides,  in  skating  parties  and  wild  hunts  by  night. 
Instead  of  silken  shoes,  they  wore  topboots;  they 
peopled  the  German  woods  with  bards  and  Druids, 
and  dreamed  of  Gothic  cathedrals  and  knights  with 
mailed  fists.  The  gentle  race  of  writers  was  followed  by 
a  warlike  one,  which  wished  with  blood  and  iron  to  form 
a  new  world.  In  1774  appeared  Goethe's  IVeriher,  a 
love  story,  but  at  the  same  time  a  manifestation  of  a 
young  Titan  whose  cry  for  freedom  burst  all  social 


GAINSBOROUGH 


PORTRAIT  OF  MRS.  SIDDONS 

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Zbc  BnUgbtenment  743 


barriers.  Soon  afterwards  came  Schiller,  with  those 
youthful  works  which  seem  a  declaration  of  war  against 
the  existing  order.  The  angrily  rising  lion  with  the 
inscription  In  tyrannos  which  serves  as  a  title-page 
to  the  second  edition  of  Die  Rauber  is  the  innermost 
expression  of  the  sentiment  which  inflamed  the  age. 
With  sharp  emphasis  Fiesco  is  entitled  a  "repubHcan 
tragedy'*;  and  Kabale  und  Liehe  attacks  at  the  very 
core  the  rottenness  of  its  day. 

The  feeling  for  landscape  also  experiences  a  change. 
The  same  love  of  nature  which  in  England  prompted 
Thomson's  Seasons  also  found  expression  in  Germany. 
In  1749  Kleist  wrote  his  Fruhling;  and  Haller  extolled 
the  natural  grandeur  of  the  Alps,  and  conducted  the 
reader  into  the  caverns  of  the  cliffs  and  lonely  forests 
where  no  ray  of  light  gleams  through  the  dark  pines. 
Even  richer  in  consequence  was  the  influence  of  Rous- 
seau, with  whom  a  new  epoch  of  the  love  of  nature 
begins  for  the  Continent.  He  does  not  grow  enthusi- 
astic over  artificial  country  scenes  such  as  Boucher  and 
Fragonard  painted;  those  landscapes  with  dovecotes 
and  windmills,  with  cascades,  dairies,  thatched  cottages 
in  which  the  aristocratic  ladies,  weary  of  Le  Notre's 
park,  milked  cows  in  silken  shepherd's  garb.  He 
praised  the  majesty  of  lonely  nature  untouched  by 
the  hand  of  man;  the  grandeur  of  towering  cliffs  and 
raging  waterfalls;  he  spoke  of  gloomy  cloud-wrapped 
mountains  covered  with  firs,  of  the  glitter  of  sunbeams 
upon  icy  mountain-tops,  and  of  dewy,  fresh  woods  in 


744        TTriumpb  of  tbe  Bourgeoisie 


which  the  birds  twitter.  If  for  the  old  aristocratic 
generations  the  landscape  was  only  a  background  for 
the  social  pleasures  of  life,  it  is  now  treasured  for  its 
sublime  solitude.  Instead  of  the  soft  zephyr  men 
loved  rushing  wind,  instead  of  bucolic  repose  the  wild 
raging  of  the  elements.  Many  of  the  landscape  de- 
scriptions in  Goethe's  Weriher  are  of  a  modern  delicacy, 
as  if  he  were  describing  pictures  of  Dupre,  Corot,  or 
Daubigny. 

But  if  one  seeks  the  works  of  art  which  the  period  of 
geniuses  in  German  literature  produces,  the  result  is  an 
extremely  meagre  one.  This  heroic  age  for  the  his- 
torian of  literature  is  a  desert  for  the  histoiian  of  art. 
Nor  is  this  an  accident.  For  while  literature  prepares 
new  ages,  art  can  only  rise  upon  the  basis  of  a  quiet, 
well-rounded  culture.  In  bourgeois  Holland  and  Eng- 
land it  attained  development  not  during  the  struggles, 
but  only  after  culture  had  attained  a  fixed  character. 
In  Germany  the  age  without  art  lasted  longer,  be- 
cause here,  even  more  than  in  England,  the  new  cul- 
ture assumed  a  specifically  literary  character.  It  was 
Schiller's  "ink-splashing"  century,  in  which  Htera- 
ture  attracted  all  powers  into  its  service.  The  whole 
world  hearkened  to  the  words  of  the  author:  the  book 
became  the  companion  of  man,  and  art  found  justifi- 
cation in  a  new  world  only  as  far  as  it  served  litera- 
ture. As  in  England  Hogarth  is  a  part  of  the  great 
literary  movement,  so  in  Germany  Daniel  Chodo- 
wiecke  owes   his  fate  solely  to  the  circumstance 


XTbe  BnUobtenment  745 


that  he  dedicated  his  clever  burin  to  the  service  of 
authors. 

After  Lessing  created  in  Minna  von  Barnhelm  the 
first  middle-class  drama,  Chodowiecke  attempted  to 
become  the  illustrator  of  the  German  bourgeoisie.  At 
a  time  when  no  one  took  a  walk  without  a  book  in  his 
pocket,  he  found  his  mission  in  the  illustration  of  the 
great  German  authors.  It  is  true  that  he  has  nothing 
of  the  spirit  of  the  great  writers.  "Honest  Chodo- 
wiecke" Goethe  usually  calls  him,  and  this  is  the  only 
possible  characterisation.  At  bottom  he  is  a  thorough 
philistine,  as  honest  and  talkative  as  he  is  common- 
place and  sober — a  genuine  type  of  that  Berlinism 
which  was  represented  in  contemporary  literature  by 
Nicolai,  lived  once  more  at  a  later  period  with  Kruger, 
and  in  the  works  of  Menzel  came  very  near  to  genius. 
He  treats  his  themes  in  a  broad  and  generally  com- 
prehensible way.  The  more  an  author  is  genial,  honest, 
and  clear,  the  more  congenially  Chodowiecke  illustrates 
him.  He  loves  good  and  gentle  Gellert  better  than 
clever  Lessing;  Gleim,  Campe,  and  Kotzebue  are  more 
congenial  to  him  than  Burger,  Mathison,  and  Wieland. 
In  this  honest  common-sense  his  works  reflect  only  the 
age  of  enlightenment,  not  the  higher  inspiration  of  the 
"storm  and  stress"  period.  One  of  his  finest  prints 
shows  him  sitting  at  the  window,  in  the  cosy  circle 
of  his  family,  engaged  in  drawing.  The  centre  of  the 
living-room  is  the  sofa,  and  around  the  table  before  it 
the  family  is  united.   This  appreciation  of  the  cosiness 


746        XCriumpb  of  tbe  Bourgeoisie 


of  German  family  life  is  the  characteristic  feature  of 
his  friendly,  good-humoured,  and  harmless  art. 

Beside  the  illustrations  for  classical  writers  the  por- 
trait alone  plays  a  role,  and  in  this  also  one  can  see  the 
gradual  surrender  of  the  patronage  of  art  by  the  aris- 
tocracy to  the  bourgeoisie.  Antoine  Pesne,  a  Parisian, 
who  was  director  of  the  Academy  at  Berlin,  is  still 
a  type  of  the  court  painter.  But  although  he  is  oc- 
cupied almost  exclusively  with  the  aristocracy,  even 
these  portraits  surprise  the  beholder  by  a  certain 
massive  and  coarse  element,  forming  a  striking  contrast 
to  the  light  coquetry  and  rosy  softness  of  the  Rococo. 
Both  the  countenance  and  the  costumes  are  serious: 
for  Pesne  is  the  painter  of  a  court  which  does  homage 
to  the  view  that  the  king  is  only  the  first  servant  of 
the  state. 

Balthasar  Denner  of  Hamburg  was  the  first  portrait- 
painter  of  the  rising  common  people;  of  those  circles 
which  as  yet  had  no  relation  to  art,  but  demanded  of  a 
picture  the  most  common-place,  exact  reproduction  of 
reality.  In  accordance  with  these  wishes  he  adopted 
a  manner  like  that  of  Gerard  Dou.  Every  wrinkle, 
every  fold  of  the  skin  is  carefully  drawn,  every  hair  - 
of  the  head,  every  gleam  of  the  plush  cap  is  conscien- 
tiously noted  and  the  whole  is  so  smooth  that  nothing 
can  be  seen  of  the  brush-work,  and  the  picture  has  the 
appearance  of  a  porcelain  panel. 

A  series  of  other  portraits  reflects  the  spiritual  rise  of 
Germany;  for  the  so-called  "temples  of  friendship"  are 


XTbe  jEnUgbtenment  747 


characteristic  of  this  age  of  enHghtenment.  As  early 
as  1745  Gleim  had  begun  at  Halberstadt  to  collect  the 
portraits  of  celebrated  Germans.  Somewhat  later 
Philipp  Erasmus  Reich,  the  owner  of  Weidmann's  book- 
store in  Leipzig,  who  had,  as  a  pubHsher,  come  into 
contact  with  the  celebrated  men  of  his  day,  began  that 
collection  of  portraits  which  is  at  the  present  time  in 
possession  of  the  university  library  of  Leipzig.  Anton 
Graff  was  destined  to  become  the  historian  of  this 
epoch.  As  Chodowiecke  illustrated  the  classic  writers, 
Graff  portrayed  them:  and  his  portraits  were  spread 
among  the  people  by  means  of  Bause's  line  engravings. 
His  subjects  included  Gellert  and  Bodmer,  Gessner  and 
Herder,  Wieland  and  Lessing,  Schiller  and  Burger, 
Weisse  and  Rabenar  among  writers  and  poets;  Sulzer 
and  Mendelssohn  among  the  philosophers;  Iffland  and 
Corona  Schroter  among  the  actors;  Ramler,  Lippert, 
and  Hagedorn  among  scholars;  and  he  thus  gave  to  the 
literary  lights  of  the  eighteenth  century  the  features 
by  which  they  are  now  known.  Even  more  than  in 
the  authors'  portraits  by  Reynolds  the  purely  spiritual 
element  of  the  new  age  is  reflected  in  those  of  Graff. 
There  are  no  accessories,  and  he  rarely  paints  his 
subjects  in  full  figure,  concentrating  his  efforts  upon 
the  heads  with  their  mighty  thoughtful  brows.  The 
eyes  which  gaze  upon  us  have  no  longer  time  for  the 
minuet  or  dances  on  the  green,  but  they  have  read 
Kant's  Kritik  der  reinen  V ernunft. 
Outside  of  the  illustrations  of  clever  artists  and  their 


748        Uriumpb  ot  tbe  Bourgeoisie 

portraits,  the  new  world  had  for  the  present  no  need 
of  art.  A  meagre  result  was  achieved  by  Wilhelm 
Tibchbein's  picture  of  Conradin  in  the  spirit  of  Bodmer's 
ballad.  It  is  more  pleasant  to  read  Goethe's  wonderful 
landscape  descriptions  in  Weriher  than  to  see  the 
pictures  of  contemporary  landscape-painters.  It  is 
indeed  a  very  characteristic  trait  that  this  was  the 
time  of  that  literary  landscape  painting  which  Lessing 
at  a  later  period  combated  in  his  Laocodn.  Written 
landscapes  were  preferred  to  the  painted,  and  the 
literary  were  only  valued  from  the  literary  stand- 
point or  on  account  of  an  interesting  subject. 
Salomon  Gessner  amused  himself  by  representing  in 
etchings  the  idyllic  places  which  he  praised  in  his 
poems.  Philipp  Hackert  became  the  Chodowiecke  of 
landscape  painting,  and  with  solemn  and  honest 'ob- 
jectivity related  to  German  burghers  how  beautiful 
Italy  looked.  The  animal-painter  Elias  Riedinger 
gained  applause  by  the  zoological  exactitude  with 
which  in  his  engravings  he  perpetuated  dogs  and  horses, 
stags  and  does,  elephants  and  hippopotami.  Not  yet 
capable  of  enjoying  with  the  eye,  men  valued  painting 
only  in  so  far  as  it  furnished  food  for  the  mind.  In 
this  icy  world  of  thought  beauty  was  compelled  to 
perish.  After  man  had  eaten  the  fruit  of  the  tree 
of  knowledge,  he  was  driven  from  the  paradise  of  art. 

HIFIT,  ^be  paeslng  of  JBeautg 

There  was  a  single  city  in  Europe  into  which  as 


t'bc  ipasstna  of  Beauty 


yet  nothing  of  all  these  struggles  had  penetrated, 
and  where  at  a  time  when  artistic  culture  had 
been  elsewhere  destroyed  the  ancient  aristocratic  art 
experienced  a  delicate  aftergrowth.  At  all  times 
decades  behind  the  general  artistic  development, 
Venice  in  the  eighteenth  century  remained  true  to  the 
habit.  Having  for  so  long  been  the  bulwark  of  the 
church,  she  now  became  worldly  and  frivolous,  grace- 
ful and  mirthful,  peopled  no  longer  by  black-robed 
ecclesiastics,  but  by  shepherds  clad  in  rose  and  pale 
blue.  In  Favretto's  picture  Upon  the  Pianetta  a  gaily- 
coloured,  elegant  crowd  promenades  upon  the  smooth 
marble  pavement,  before  the  Loggietta  with  its  light- 
coloured  marble  columns  and  gleaming  metal-work. 
They  chat,  look  through  their  lorgnettes,  and  chival- 
rously salute  the  goddess  of  beauty.  Such  was  the 
Venice  of  the  Goldoni,  Gozzi,  and  Casanova;  the  magic 
city  radiant  with  ancient  splendour,  which,  at  a  time 
when  people  elsewhere  already  wore  horn  spectacles 
and  coats  of  black  cloth,  still  celebrated  its  Rococo 
in  feverish,  festal  joy,  with  song  and  coquetry. 

Giambattista  Piazzetta  was  the  first  to  leave  the 
paths  of  the  old  religious  art.  His  Madonnas  are  only 
characterised  as  such  by  their  names,  and  are  in  truth 
young  mothers  dallying  with  a  child.  Most  of  his 
works  are  pictures  of  young  girls  of  that  seductive 
age  when  the  dainty  little  feet  are  covered  with  the  first 
long  dress;  who  dream,  pout,  laugh,  and  glance  in- 
nocently yet  fearfully  into  the  world.    He  never  knew 


750        Uriumpb  of  tbe  BourGcotste 


variations.  This  type  of  the  young  girl  recurs  with 
the  artists  who  followed.  Peasants,  youthful  dealers 
in  game,  and  flower-girls  are  represented  in  the  paint- 
ings of  Domenico  Maiotto,  Francesco  Guaranna,  and 
Antonio  Chiozzotto.  In  no  wise  resembling  the  fat 
women  in  the  market-place,  Piazzetta's  maidens,  with 
their  rosy  lips  and  slender  movements,  are  young  ladies 
who  have  for  a  change  disguised  themselves  as  country 
or  flower  girls.  Rotari  is  the  fmest  interpreter  of  this 
budding  maidenhood.  He  has  portrayed  these  pretty 
children  in  all  situations ;  asleep  over  a  book  and  teased 
by  a  youthful  swain;  dreaming  over  their  sewing  of 
kings'  sons  in  the  fairy  tales,  or  as  gypsies  turning  the 
heads  of  old  men.  Pietro  Longhi  thereupon  wrote 
the  entire  chronicle  of  Venice.  For  centuries  the 
Venetian  gentlewomen  had  been  condemned  to  a  life 
as  secluded  as  that  of  an  oriental  harem,  the  secrets  of 
which  no  painter's  eye  had  seen.  Now  the  portals 
were  thrown  open  and  the  gentildonna  had  become  a 
lady  of  the  world,  the  attraction  of  an  aesthetic  salon. 
Longhi  mastered  the  figure  of  the  Venetian  patrician 
woman,  and  did  not  leave  it  until  he  had  told  every- 
thing about  her,  from  the  levee  until  the  return  from 
the  ball.  He  followed  her  everywhere — into  the  bed- 
chamber, the  boudoir,  upon  the  promenade,  in  the 
gambling-halls,  to  the  fortune-tellers,  to  the  Ridotto — 
and  narrated  his  observations  with  more  objectivity 
than  esprit. 

The  spirit  of  the  age  took  the  most  characteristic 


XTbe  passing  of  Beauti?  751 


form  in  the  works  of  Tiepolo.  He  is  the  prince,  the 
radiant  god  of  Hght  of  the  Venice  which  arose  Hke  an 
enchanted  island  in  an  artistic  world. 

Tiepolo  painted  everything  and  is  a  stranger  to  no 
subject,  to  no  technique.   Just  at  that  time  a  great 
building  activity  developed  in  Venice.  Baldassare 
Longhena,  Cominelli,  and  their  pupils  created  those 
Baroque  buildings  which  at  the  present  day  give  the 
city  of  the  lagoons  its  fantastic,  glittering  character: 
the  fa<;ade  a  wild  conglomeration  of  hermae  and 
atlantes,  of  columns  and  cartouches,  the  interiors  bare 
and  empty.   Tiepolo's  activity  consisted  in  filling  this 
interior  space  with  the  sunshine  of  his  bright  radiant 
art.    In  the  church  of  the  Jesuits  in  Venice  he  painted 
the  Distribution  of  the  Rosary  by  St.  Dominic;  in  the 
church  of  Santa  Maria  della  Pieta,  the  Triumph  of  Faith; 
in  the  church  of  the  Scalzi,  the  legend  of  the  Angels 
Bearing  the  House  of  Mary  to  Loreto.    In  Palazzo 
Rezzonico  the  Triumph  of  the  Sun  God  is  treated,  and 
in  Palazzo  Labia  a  theme  of  the  decline  of  the  Roman 
republic:  the  Banquet  and  the  Departure  of  Cleopatra. 
He  laboured  not  only  for  Venice  but  also  for  the 
neighbouring    cities.    The   Villa   Valmarana  near 
Vicenza  he  decorated  with  scenes  from  Homer,  Virgil, 
Ariosto,  and  Tasso;  the  Palazzo  Clerici  in  Milan  with  the 
Apotheosis  of  Apollo;  the  Palazzo  Canossa  in  Verona 
with  the  Triumph  of  Hercules;  the  archiepiscopal  palace 
in  Udine  with  the  Fall  of  Lucifer.    Nor  was  his  activity 
confined  to  Italy,  but  extended  to  Catholic  Southern 


752        Uriumpb  of  tbe  JSouraeoisie 


Germany  and  to  Spain.  Beginning  in  1750,  he  painted 
the  decorations  of  the  palace  at  Wiirzburg:  in  the  hall 
of  the  stairway  the  representation  of  the  four  quarters 
of  the  earth  doing  homage  to  the  duchy  of  Franconia; 
in  the  imperial  hall  a  scene  from  the  glorious  past  of 
the  city:  the  marriage  of  Frederick  Barbarossa  in  1 156 
with  the  beautiful  Beatrice  of  Burgundy,  and  the 
emperor  creating  the  bishop  of  Wiirzburg  tem- 
poral lord  of  the  duchy  of  Franconia.  In  the  royal 
palace  at  Madrid  he  painted  for  the  hall  of  the  body 
guard  the  Smithy  of  Vulcan,  for  the  entrance  hall  an 
Apotheosis  of  Spain,  and  for  the  throne-room  the 
Spanish  Provinces. 

But  little  is  accomplished  by  enumerating  the 
subjects  of  his  works.  Tiepolo's  art  is  no  wall-didac- 
ticism but  decorative  music  reverberating  in  jubilant 
accords  through  the  halls.  One  gazes  upon  distant 
palaces  and  sun-bathed  landscapes,  and  into  the 
heavens'  wide  aether.  In  wild,  maenadic  ecstacy  angels 
and  geniuses  soar  through  space,  singing,  laughing,  and 
tumbling  over  each  other.  Young  knights  upon  white 
steeds  gallop  past  with  waving  banners  in  their  hands, 
loggie  supported  by  columns  and  adorned  with  bal- 
dachins, stairways,  and  terraces  arise;  festally  clothed 
men  look  down  from  balustrades,  at  the  musicians 
playing  below.  Servants,  among  whom  are  Nubians  in 
gay  oriental  costume,  come  and  go.  Yellow  Egyptian 
women  seated  upon  elephants  with  gold-studded 
trappings,  pilgrims  to  Mecca,  Moors  riding  upon 


GIVOANNI  BATTISTA  TIEPOLO 


MARTYRDOM  OF  ST.  AGATHA 

Berlin  Gallery 


Zbc  passtno  of  Beauty  753 


camels,  Arabs,  Persians,  Turks,  Indians,  and  American 
gold-seekers  march  past.  Chinese  episodes  also  occur: 
Chinese  tea-parties  and  Japanese  temples,  Chinese  men 
and  women  walking  in  solemn  dignity  under  red 
parasols.  Pegasus  storms  through  the  aether,  and  a 
pyramid  is  erected  in  the  midst  of  the  clouds.  All 
ages  and  zones  come  to  the  meeting-place ;  gods,  mor- 
tals, and  cupids,  tropical  plants,  birds,  and  gay  banners 
are  arranged  in  fairy  pictures  of  a  fabulous  and  exotic 
splendour. 

He  ranks  with  Veronese  as  the  greatest  Venetian 
decorator,  as  the  heir,  user,  and  squanderer  of  an  ancient 
culture.  The  tremendous  ability  of  a  mighty  artistic 
ancestry  is  revived  in  this  frivolous  child  of  the 
eighteenth  century;  but  he  uses  it  for  the  expression  of 
quite  new  ideas.  Veronese's  art  was  a  daughter  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  clear,  serene,  and  classic;  of  rigid 
composition  and  carefully  considered  geometrical  lines. 
Tiepolo  sings  in  no  majestic  stanzas,  but  bold,  spark- 
ling songs.  The  rhythm  and  repose  of  Veronese  is 
replaced  in  his  work  by  freedom,  nonchalance,  and 
nervous  moods.  The  Venetian  spirit,  then  so  solemn, 
has  become  a  subtle  juggler,  lies,  leaps,  and  dances 
caprioles.  All  heaviness  has  disappeared:  deprived  of 
all  corporality,  the  figures  soar  through  the  clear 
silvery  aether.  All  the  past  masters  of  perspective, 
Mantegna,  Melozzo,  Correggio,  and  Pater  Pozzo,  appear, 
clumsy  and  struggling  compared  with  Tiepolo.  He  is 
the  aptest  of  the  apt,  a  man  who  again  and  again  pre- 

48 


754        XCriumpb  of  tbe  Bourgeoisie 


pares  new  fetes  upon  this  earth ;  a  prestidigitator  whose 
hand,  as  if  in  a  logical  reflex,  follows  every  flash  of  his 
eye. 

But  he  is  even  more  than  this.   These  frescoes  form 
only  a  part  of  his  enormous  life-work.    In  addition  to 
his  decorations,  his  etchings  and  oil  paintings  must 
also  be  considered.    His  etchings,  the  Capriccios  and 
the  Scher^i  di  fantasia,  cannot  be  described  in  words. 
They  are  a  witches*  sabbath  of  magic  fantasy  and 
oriental  enchantment.    Here  beside  an  antique  sar- 
cophagus an  old  magician  conjures  a  snake;  there  one 
sits  upon  a  pagan  gravestone,  burning  a  skull;  an- 
other leaning  against  an  altar  of  Dionysus  thoughtfully 
examines  a  skeleton,  while  a  maiden  is  caressing  a 
satyr.    Even  in  these  works  the  black  and  white 
figures  seem  radiant  with  glowing  sunlight.    His  oil 
paintings  reveal  him  from  another  side.    The  novelty 
does  not  consist  in  the  subject;  for  Tiepolo,  unlike 
Piazzetta  and  Longhi,  seldom  painted  scenes  from 
modern  life.  Most  of  his  easel-pictures  are  altar-pieces : 
visions,  martyrdoms,  and  conceptions,  in  which  cruelty 
is  mingled  with  hysterical  sensuality  and  Catholic 
mysticism.    Dead  eyes  stare  hopelessly  at  us,  pale  lips 
murmur  prayers,  and  wan  hands  are  raised  aloft  to  the 
Cross.    It  is  no  accident  that  in  Venice  alone,  even  at 
the  close  of  the  eighteenth  century,  these  ancient  sub- 
jects of  the  Counter-reformation  recur.    But  what  an 
indescribable  pathological  refinement  Tiepolo  has  given 
them!    How  in  the  Berlin  picture  he  has  transformed 


TLbc  passing  of  Beautp  755 


the  ancient  theme  of  the  Martyrdom  of  Agatha  to  suit 
the  nerves  of  the  Rococo !  As  a  colourist  he  loves  only 
light,  dainty,  pale  harmonies,  such  as  one  would  expect 
from  the  son  of  the  eighteenth  century.  He  softens  and 
subdues  the  colour,  and  delights  in  soft,  fading  com- 
binations, in  the  gloomy  black,  delicate  white,  and 
pale,  refmed  rose  and  lilac  nuances.  To  him  alone 
belongs  this  female  type  of  exquisite  sensuality  and 
oriental  dreaminess,  of  pale,  dark-eyed  weariness  and 
trembling  joy  in  life. 

It  is  not  certain  whether  Tiepolo  was  descended 
from  the  ancient,  noble  house  of  that  name,  which 
for  several  centuries  bestowed  upon  the  republic  of  St. 
Mark  doges,  procurators,  and  military  heroes.  But 
so  great  is  his  horror  of  everything  common-place  and 
plebeian  that  one  loves  to  think  of  him  as  a  descendant 
of  an  ancient  and  noble  house.  As  the  last  child 
but  one  of  an  aged  father,  he  passed  his  youth  under  the 
guardianship  of  his  mother,  and  the  aristocratic  dandy 
soon  became  the  favourite  of  women.  This  explains 
the  feminine  trend  in  his  character,  the  morbid  deli- 
cacy of  feeling  with  which  he  expresses  feminine 
charms.  In  contrast  to  the  earlier  Venetians  who 
loved  a  royal,  powerful,  and  animal  beauty,  Tiepolo, 
the  abstracter  of  the  quintessences,  plucked  pale  tea- 
roses  of  enchanting  fragrance.  As  Beaudelaire  relates : 
"Two  women  were  introduced  to  me,  one  obnoxious  in 
her  healthfulness,  without  carriage  or  expression,  in 
short,  simple  nature;  the  other  one  of  those  beauties 


756        Uriumpb  of  tbe  JBouroeoisie 


who  dominate  and  oppress  the  memory;  who  make 
their  toilette  contribute  to  their  deep  individual  charm; 
mistresses  of  their  bearing,  conscious  rulers  of  them- 
selves; with  a  voice  like  a  well-tuned  instrument  and 
glances  which  only  express  what  they  wish."  Thus 
Tiepolo  also  loved,  not  the  healthy,  but  a  morbid 
autumnal,  fading  beauty;  a  volcano  in  whose  interior 
glowing  lava  seethes;  the  charm  of  La  dame  aux 
camelias. 

He  seldom  assigns  to  the  charming  brown  maiden  of 
the  people  the  role  of  the  Madonna,  but  usually  depicts 
as  his  saints  ladies  of  the  highest  circles;  pale  countesses 
with  tired  laughter  and  with  wonderful  white  hands, 
who  know  the  excitement  of  gambling  and  all  the 
sensations  of  an  over-refmed  love.  His  perception  of 
movement  and  gesture  is  as  sharp  as  his  rendition  of 
the  play  of  countenance.  In  the  sixteenth  century 
movements  were  round  and  majestic,  in  the  seventeenth 
exaggerated  and  pathetic;  but  an  almost  imperceptible 
crook  of  the  finger,  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  a  quick 
turn  of  the  head  is  sufficient  for  Tiepolo.  Quite  in- 
describable is  the  charming  grace  with  which  his 
ladies  raise  the  train  of  their  stiff,  brocaded  dresses. 
Only  the  descendant  of  ancient,  over-refmed  culture 
which  required  many  centuries  to  prepare  could  have 
such  a  refined  sense  for  delicate  shadings. 

But  even  for  this  ancient  culture  the  grave  had  been 
prepared.  Tiepolo's  activity  signifies  only  the  "  passing 
of  beauty."    It  is  no  accident  that  his  finest  worl:3 


Xlbe  pasBiuG  of  Beauti?  757 


treat  themes  of  the  Roman  dedine;  for  the  same  time 
had  come  for  Venice.  The  odour  of  decay,  the  Hvid 
atmosphere  of  a  sultry  but  pale  autumn  day  pervades 
his  works.  They  are  the  products  not  only  of  an 
ancient  but  of  an  over-ripe  and  decayed  culture,  and 
as  in  the  days  of  the  Germanic  invasion,  the  world 
once  more  needed  barbarians. 

For  two  decades  after  Tiepolo's  eyes  closed  in  Madrid, 
the  death-struggle  of  ancient  Venetian  art  continued 
with  unflagging  joyfulness  to  the  last.  The  two 
Canaletti,  Antonio  and  Bernardo,  came  to  complete 
the  death-mask  of  the  queen  of  the  Adriatic;  they 
painted  the  noble  beauty  of  Venetian  architecture,  the 
fantastic  splendour  of  the  churches,  and  the  weather- 
beaten  grandeur  of  the  palaces.  Francesco  Guardi 
arose  to  depict  the  glowing  light  that  spreads  over 
the  lagoons.  Gondolas,  adorned  with  wreaths,  gUde 
fairylike,  as  in  the  days  of  Carpaccio,  over  the  green 
canals,  and  the  columns  and  balconies,  the  arches  and 
loggias  of  marble  palaces  are  reflected  in  the  waves. 
Strange  embassies  move  in  gala  splendour  over  St. 
Mark's  Square,  saluted  by  the  proud  Venetian  nobility. 
Everything  is  as  of  old,  except  that  it  is  seen  no  longer 
with  the  eye  of  a  realist  but  with  that  of  a  romanticist. 
For  when  Guardi's  last  works  were  created,  the  empire 
of  the  Doges  had  already  fallen.  H 

Even  the  pillars  of  the  royal  palace  in  Madrid, 
where  Tiepolo,  the  aristocrat,  created  his  latest  works, 
were  shaken  by  the  democratic  spirit  of  the  age. 


758        Uriumpb  of  tbe  Boutoeoisie 


Strange  figures,  mocking  and  threatening,  appeared 
under  the  windows  of  the  Alcazar.  Spain,  the  land  of 
bhnd  piety,  had  ceased  to  believe,  laughed  over  the 
Inquisition,  and  no  longer  trembled  at  threats  of  the 
punishment  of  hell.  Indeed,  it  is  one  of  the  ironies  of 
the  world's  history  that  precisely  here,  in  the  most 
mediaeval  land  of  Europe,  the  storm-bird  of  the  revolu- 
tion appeared.  An  art  which  was  aristocratic  and 
knightly  and  more  Catholic  than  Catholicism  was 
followed  by  the  greatest  possible  reaction  in  the  works 
of  Goya.  A  wild  plebeian,  in  whose  mind  gloomy 
thoughts  of  freedom  revolved,  crept  into  the  walls  of 
the  Alcazar,  where  a  little  before  the  refined  Tiepolo  had 
dwelt.  A  skeptic  who  believed  in  nothing  painted 
the  walls  of  churches  which  had  once  been  decorated  by 
Zurbaran;  a  stiff-necked  peasant  lad  became  the  por- 
traitist of  a  royal  house  whose  court  painter  had  been 
Don  Diego  Velasquez. 

Goya  painted  the  most  varied  subjects.  His  re- 
ligious frescoes  are  parodies  of  Tiepolo.  Beautiful 
women  look  down  coquettishly  from  the  ceiling  and 
angels,  with  challenging  laughter,  display  their  legs. 
His  portraits  of  maidens,  especially  the  celebrated 
double  picture  of  the  clothed  and  nude  Maja,  belong 
to  the  finest  studies  of  the  century.  In  other  pictures 
he  has  depicted  with  powerful  brush-work  scenes 
from  popular  life:  processions,  bull-fights,  beggars,  and 
brigands.  But  however  seductive  he  may  be  when 
charmed  by  his  model,  he  is  no  painter.    His  pictures 


XTbe  passtno  of  Bcmt^  759 


are  rapidly  observed  and  rapidly  executed,  without 
artistic  love  or  refined  feeling.  He  is  a  revolutionist, 
an  agitator,  a  nihilist. 

Even  in  his  portraits  of  the  royal  family  these 
opinions  are  betrayed.  He  seems  to  laugh  over  the 
pompous  nothingness  that  stood  before  him,  and  to  be 
chagrined  at  having  to  paint  the  noble  ladies  and 
gentlemen  in  such  solemn  poses,  instead  of  letting 
them  disport  themselves  and  jump  over  balustrades  as 
did  his  angels.  All  of  his  pictures  have  a  hopelessly 
plebeian  quality.  This  son  of  a  revolutionary  age 
deprived  the  poor  princes  who  were  his  sitters  of  the 
talisman  of  majesty  and  displayed  them  stripped 
before  the  eye  of  the  world. 

His  etchings  reveal  the  true  Goya.  Only  in  such 
prints,  not  in  oil  paintings,  could  his  wild  fire,  his 
harsh,  stormy  spirit  find  expression.  A  mad,  uncanny 
fantasy  is  everywhere  revealed.  Witches  ride  upon 
broomsticks  and  white  cats ;  woman  tear  out  the  teeth 
of  executed  criminals ;  robbers  scuffle  with  demons  and 
dwarfs.  A  dead  man  arises  from  the  grave  and  writes 
with  his  finger  the  word  Nada.  But  the  prevailing 
note  is  his  hatred  of  tyrants.  Nothing  which  had  for- 
merly been  considered  authority  escapes  his  scorn.  In 
the  Capricdos  he  attacks  with  raving  fury  the  kings  and 
magnates,  and  scoffs  at  the  priest's  robe  concealing 
human  passions.  In  Los  desastres  de  la  guerra  he  con- 
trasts the  military  glory  which  his  predecessors  had 
celebrated  with  the  bloody  ruin  which  is  the  price  of 


76o        XTrlumpb  ot  tbe  Bouroeoisie 


glory.  Everywhere  he  struggles  with  cutting  irony 
against  despotism  and  hypocrisy,  against  the  vanity 
of  the  great  and  the  serviHty  of  the  small;  heaping  all 
vices  of  the  time  into  a  horrible  hecatomb.  In  his 
works  there  sounds  the  suppressed  rumbling  of  the 
revolution  whose  crater  had  in  the  meanwhile  opened. 

IRevolution  anD  Bmpire 

In  glancing  at  the  French  etchings  of  the  decades 
following  1770  and  1780  or  wandering  through  the 
gardens  laid  out  about  this  time,  one  perceptibly 
feels  how  the  coming  events  cast  their  shadows  before 
them.  The  feeling  of  the  end  of  the  world  is  there. 
Men  embrace  and  weep  teais  of  friendship;  they  feel 
that  they  have  little  time  left  to  see  the  light  of  the 
sun.  Therefore  nature  seems  to  them  so  touching,  so 
holy  and  beautiful;  but  they  do  not  see  life  in  her — 
only  a  mighty  grave.  Their  enthusiasm  for  nature  is 
accompanied  by  thoughts  of  death  and  floods  of  tears. 
At  the  beginning  of  the  century,  in  the  time  of  festive 
joy,  men  fancied  Chinese  summer-houses;  then,  when 
they  believed  that  by  a  return  to  virtue  and  idyllic 
simpHcity,  the  ruin  might  be  averted,  cottages,  dairies, 
and  temples  of  virtue  were  erected.  Now  that  the 
dark  care  had  come,  they  named  their  country  places 
Sanssouci;  laid  out  island  cemeteries  with  mausoleums, 
and  placed  urns  with  tear-cloths  in  them.  Mournful 
is  the  rustle  of  the  poplars  whose  foliage  shades  the 
grave;  weeping  willows  bend  down  their  branches, 


IRevolution  anb  lEmpire  761 


and  inscriptions  point  to  the  changefulness  of  the 
earthly.  In  etchings  as  well  as  in  gardens  the  ruins 
play  the  most  important  part.  Men  were  attracted 
by  the  crumbling,  the  old,  and  the  fallen,  as  if  they 
were  conscious  that  an  old  civilisation  would  soon 
fall.  In  an  impressive  illustrated  work,  Moreau's 
Monument  de  costume,  the  old  aristocratic  society 
relinquishes  its  heritage,  desiring  before  the  parting  to 
leave  to  the  world  a  reflection  of  its  beauty.  Even 
the  conception  of  colour  experiences  a  change.  The 
favourite  colour  of  the  epoch  is  the  bleu  mourant  which 
is  generally  used  for  clothes,  as  well  the  walls  and  the 
floors  of  the  dwellings.  Or  else  black,  the  colour  of 
mourning,  is  preferred;  and  not  only  is  the  furniture, 
formerly  so  light,  black  as  ebony,  but  black  silhouettes 
replace  the  coloured  miniature  portraits  of  the  Rococo. 
So  much  like  ghosts,  so  doomed  to  the  realm  of  shades 
people  see  themselves,  that  they  have  themselves 
portrayed  in  shadowy  outlines.  They  had  too  long 
closed  their  eyes  against  what  was  happening.  Blind- 
man's  buff  has  now  become  a  play  of  ghosts,  and  the 
gloomy  feeling  of  the  approaching  end  is  reflected  in 
everything.  The  toilettes  are  changed  after  the  pat- 
tern of  democratic  English  and  American  costumes 
and  every  one  has  the  best  intention  to  become  dem- 
ocratic.   But  it  is  too  late. 

In  1789  the  die  was  cast.  Apr^s  nous  le  deluge,  so 
lightly  spoken  by  the  Marquise  de  Pompadour,  had 
become  a  solemn  truth.   The  perpetual  motion  which 


762        XTrtumpb  ot  tbe  Bouraeoiste 


had  begun  its  course  one  hundred  and  fifty  years 
earHer  in  England  rolled  like  a  great  avalanche  over 
the  soil  of  France.    Gloomy  and  confused  as  the 
raging  of  the  storm  roar  the  peals  of  (^a  ira  and  the 
Marseillaise — sounds  which  tore  all  Europe  out  of  its 
grooves.   The  troubled  and  the  heavy-laden,  the 
beggars  and  cripples,  once  painted  by  the  Master  of 
the  Triumph  oj  Death  in  the  Pisan  Camposanto  as 
begging  in  vain  for  the  advent  of  Death,  have 
themselves  seized  his  sickle.    From  their  caves  and 
huts,  from  cellars  and  attic  windows  they  rush  forth 
like  raging  wolves;  hollow-eyed,  ragged,  dirty,  with 
empty  stomachs  and  thirsty  throats,  the  disinherited, 
the  people,  la  canaille.    Like  a  band  of  witches  and 
demons,  like  spirits  spying  out  the  earth,  they  storm 
forward  waving  red  flags,  torches,  and  pikes;  red  caps 
upon  their  heads,  armed  with  knives  and  clubs,  with 
flails  and  hoes.    They  tear  up  stones  and  clods  of  earth, 
they  press  into  park,  palace,  and  salon.   The  Megaeras 
of  the   Revolution,  fishwives  and  market-women, 
transformed  into  raving  Bacchantes,  force  open  doors 
with  crowbars  and  ignite  the  silken  decorations.  The 
walls  re-echo  with  rude  language,  with  curses  and 
shrieks.   They  drink  from  bottles,  and  make  costly 
glasses  of  Murano  clink  so  that  the  pieces  fly.  Pleb- 
eian orators  prate  like  ancient  Roman  tribunes  of 
freedom  and  brotherhood.    Then  comes  a  procession 
of  masks.    Hideous  fellows  with  shaggy  hair,  dressed 
as  Roman  lictors,  drag  in  triumph  a  blood-stained 


IRepolution  auD  Bmpire  763 


machine  with  gleaming  blade,  and  test  upon  rabbits 
the  sharpness  of  its  steel.  For  their  philanthropy,  ex- 
tolled by  Greuze,  the  aristocratic  ladies  and  gentlemen 
are  rewarded  with  the  guillotine.  The  last  tableau 
of  their  pastoral  play  is  the  elegant  bow  with  which 
they  offer  their  neck  to  the  knife.  The  device  of  the 
Regent,  Vive  la  joie,  is  followed  by  another,  Vive  la 
mori.  Marie  Antoinette,  her  hair  cut  short,  clad  in  a 
rough  linen  garb,  rides  amidst  the  jeers  of  the  people 
upon  the  hangman's  cart  to  the  place  of  execution. 
The  execution  of  aristocrats  has  become  for  the  people 
what  the  gladiatorial  games  were  for  the  Roman 
emperors.  Among  those  who  witness  the  drama  is  a 
young  captain,  who,  armed  with  letters  of  recommenda- 
tion to  Robespierre  and  Danton,  has  come  from  a  small 
southern  garrison  to  Paris,  and  who,  gazing  upon  the 
guillotine,  has  already  wonderful  thoughts  in  his  pale 
head,  thoughts  to  be  realised  later  at  Austerlitz  and 
Jena,  in  the  imperial  coronation  and  the  burning  of 
Moscow. 

Men  lived  in  the  atmosphere  of  antiquity;  for  after 
the  destruction  of  royalty  the  Roman  republic  had 
become  their  ideal.  The  mighty  senatus  populusque 
Romanus  again  lived  in  the  inscription  R.  F.,  which 
now  adorned  the  public  buildings.  Upon  the  walls  stood 
the  busts  of  the  great  citizens  of  Rome,  the  elder  and 
younger  Brutus,  Scipio,  Seneca,  Cato,  and  Cincinnatus. 
The  Brutus  who  killed  Caesar  was  especially  the  hero 
of  the  hour, and  the  tyrannicides  Harmodius  and  Aristo- 


764        XTriumpb  of  tbe  Bouraeoisie 


giton  were  immortalised — as  were  the  ancient  heroes 
who  had  died  for  their  country  and  served  their  people 
by  heroic  deeds:  Curtius,  Leonidas,  Mucius  Scaevola, 
and  Tirnoleon.  No  longer  the  psalms  and  gospels,  but 
Livy  and  Tacitus  were  cited  by  preachers  in  the  pulpit. 
The  Roman  heroes  of  Corneille  seemed  to  have  left 
the  stage  and  now  stood  in  new  forms  upon  the  stage  of 
life.  Men  addressed  each  other  as  Romans  and  gave 
Roman  names  to  their  children.  The  Jacobins  went 
about  sans  culottes,  in  Phrygian  caps,  and  later  the 
"head  of  Titus"  came  into  fashion.  Women  and 
girls  bound  sandals  about  their  feet  and  dressed 
their  hair  in  Grecian  knots.  Clad  in  white  clothes, 
with  no  ornament  but  the  virtue  of  simphcity,  they 
appeared  in  the  President's  office  to  sacrifice  their 
treasures,  as  had  the  Roman  women  at  the  time  of 
Camillus,  upon  the  altar  of  the  fatherland. 

Art  also  had  to  submit  to  this  framing;  indeed,  it  did 
not  even  wait  for  the  events.  Even  before  the  catas- 
trophe had  occurred,  at  a  time  when  the  Revolution 
knocked  almost  imperceptibly  at  the  gate  of  the  king's 
palace,  art  had  accepted  it.  Writers  had  drawn 
parallels  between  the  institutions  of  ancient  and  mod- 
ern states,  and  had  endeavoured  to  prove  that  the 
ancient  republics  were  models  of  absolute  perfection, 
which  should  be  imitated  as  closely  as  possible;  they 
had  contrasted  the  moral  conditions  of  Sparta  and 
Rome  with  those  of  monarchic  France.  The  painters 
followed.  The  Roman  art  of  the  Revolution  has  nothing 


IRewlution  an^  lEmpIre  765 


in  common  with  the  Hellenic  art  of  Madame  Vigee- 
Lebrun.  It  is  now  all  over  with  golden  dreams  and 
Theocritean  idylls,  with  charms,  courtly  delicacy,  and 
clever  play.  The  demand  is  for  rude  Spartan  virtue, 
and  heroism  is  identified  with  beauty.  As  in  dem- 
ocratic England,  art  was  robbed  of  her  diadem  and 
converted  into  the  handmaiden  of  patriotism.  "Not 
by  pleasing  the  eye,"  so  it  was  said  in  the  session  of  the 
jury  of  the  Salon  of  1781,  ''do  works  of  art  accomplish 
their  purpose.  The  demand  now  is  for  examples  of 
heroism  and  civic  virtues  which  will  electrify  the  soul 
of  the  people  and  arouse  in  them  devotion  to  the 
fatherland." 

He  who  uttered  these  words  was  Jacques  Louis 
David.  He  was  the  first  to  animate  the  antique  lines 
of  his  teacher  Vien  with  republican  pathos  and  to 
adapt  painting  to  the  heroism  of  the  day;  by  which  he 
became  the  great  herald  of  the  age  that  read  Plutarch 
and  transformed  an  aristocratic  Capua  into  a  democratic 
Sparta.  His  very  first  pictures,  the  Oath  of  the  Horatii 
and  Brutus,  painted  at  Rome  in  1784,  were  the  heralds 
of  the  Revolution.  To  a  new  puritanic  race,  to  whom 
the  soft  aristocratic  art  of  the  Rococo  seemed  a  slander 
upon  all  rights  of  men,  he  showed  the  heroes  who  died 
for  an  idea  or  for  the  fatherland,  giving  them  a  mighty 
muscular  development  like  that  of  a  gladiator  rushing 
into  the  arena.  Art  received  through  him  the  martial 
pose  of  patriotism.  The  whole  domain  of  the  antique 
became  a  salle  d'  armes,  where  nude  praetorians  exer- 


766         Zlriumpb  of  tbe  JSouroeoisic 


cised  in  the  poses  of  fencing-masters.  And  the  more 
pathetically  his  heroes  showed  their  heroism  the  more 
men  saw  in  them  a  picture  of  the  French  people;  for 
this  exaggerated  declamation  was  also  in  the  spirit 
of  the  time.  Talma  excited  the  admiration  of  the 
people  by  playing  in  a  classic  style  Les  Horaces  of 
Corneille.  Robespierre  is  said  to  have  spoken  upon 
the  tribune  in  a  slow,  scanning,  and  artistic  manner, 
and  to  have  moved  over  the  volcano  smouldering  at  his 
feet  as  if  he  had  been  a  Bossuet  m  the  pulpit  or  a 
Boileau  in  the  professor's  chair.  Corresponding  to  this 
are  the  severe  composition  and  the  stiff  rhetoric  of 
David's  pictures.  If  the  overthrown  society  of  the 
ancien  regime  had  done  away  with  all  form,  young 
France  now  required  even  of  painted  objects  the 
severest  discipline.  If  in  the  time  of  Sybaritism 
rhythmic  lines  and  gentle  movement  had  prevailed,  now 
the  puritans  will  only  tolerate  the  stiff  rigidity  and 
movements  like  those  of  soldiers  on  parade. 

David's  ability  as  an  artist  and  his  close  connection 
with  the  era  of  the  Revolution  is  revealed  even  more 
in  his  works  in  which,  disregarding  a  translation  into 
the  antique,  he  depicted  what  he  had  himself  exper- 
ienced or  directly  observed.  Two  pictures  in  especial, 
Lepelletier  upon  his  Deathbed  and  the  Murdered  Mar  at, 
are  works  of  mighty  naturalism,  cruel  documents  of 
that  troubled  age.  Himself  a  radical  revolutionist, 
he  was  also  destined  to  become  the  portrait  painter  of 
the  mighty  race  which  had  the  courage  to  begin 


IRevolution  anb  Bmplre  767 


civilisation  and  found  religion  anew;  these  men  of 
Cato-like  severity  and  these  women  with  the  proud, 
free  glance.  A  characteristic  example  is  the  portrait 
of  Barrere,  standing  upon  the  tribune  and  delivering 
the  oration  which  cost  Louis  XVI.  his  life;  his  glance 
cold  and  hard  and  his  mouth  twitching  with  bitter  hate; 
furthermore  the  portrait  of  Madame  Recamier  in  its 
puritanic  simplicity,  in  the  severe  rooms  with  the  bare 
walls — a  genuine  product  of  that  epoch  which  would  tol- 
erate only  hard,  merciless  lines,  and  which  introduced 
even  into  the  ladies'  boudoir  its  ideas  of  Spartan 
asceticism;  and  finally  the  portrait  of  Bonaparte,  the 
execution  of  which  is  the  turning-point  in  David's 
career. 

In  a  sitting  of  a  few  moments  he  outlined  the  cadav- 
erous bronze  head  of  the  Corsican;  and  afterwards  he, 
the  first  painter  of  the  republic,  was  named  imperial 
court  painter.  •  As  under  Robespierre,  so  under  Na- 
poleon he  was  a  dictator,  and  his  artistic  power,  his 
style  remained  the  same.  As  the  men  of  the  Revolution 
considered  themselves  Roman  republicans,  so  Napoleon 
felt  himself  a  Roman  Caesar.  David  could  therefore 
feel  the  events  without  changing  as  an  artist.  His 
Coronation  of  the  Empress  Josephine  of  1804  is  a  typical 
picture  of  rigid,  solemn  severity.  His  portraits  of  the 
Emperor,  the  Pope,  Murat,  and  Cardinal  Caprara 
symbolise  the  brutal  greatness  of  an  epoch  which 
worshipped  power.  He  occasionally  approaches  the 
themes  of  Rococo  painters  in  such  subjects  as  the 


768       Uriumpb  of  tbe  Bouraeoieie 


celebrated  lovers  of  antiquity;  but  even  in  such  works 
he  remained  a  son  of  the  Empire,  and  his  cooing  lovers 
are  not  doves  but  eagles. 

Not  until  a  later  period,  after  France  had  relinquished 
its  antique  Roman  predilections  and  the  connection 
of  classicism  with  life  became  looser,  there  entered 
into  David's  works  a  certain  dry,  archaeological,  cold, 
and  calculating  element.    French  art  thus  returned  to 
its  starting-point:  for  since  the  beginning  it  had  been 
dominated  by  a  mathematical  spirit.    Poussin  com- 
posed pictures  as  if  he  wished  to  prove  geometric 
theorems,  and  even  the  Rococo,  by  way  of  change,  only 
turned  its  mathematics  upside  down.    For  all  its 
apparent  freedom,  its  asymmetry  is  only  a  reversed 
rule  which  by  means  of  grotesque  flourishes  assumes 
the  appearance  of  freedom.    Every  line  is  as  coolly 
calculated  as  is  every  motion  of  the  body  in  the 
minuet.    After  artists  had  exhausted  the  possibilities 
of  deviating  from  rules,  they  returned  to  the  old  paths, 
from  flourishes  to  the  mathematically  regular,  from  the 
unsymmetrical  to  the  straight-lined,  from  the  capricious 
to  the  statuesque.    David  was  the  first  to  unite  antique 
statues  into  pictures,  and  painting  became  for  him  a 
geometrical  problem  regulated  by  fixed  rules.  These 
principles  he  impressed  upon  his  pupils.  Belisarius 
and  Telemachus,  Achilles  and  Priam,  Socrates  and 
Hercules,  Phaedra  and  Electra,  Diana  and  Endymion — 
such  are  almost  the  only  subjects  treated  with  stiff 
classical  exactitude  by  such  pupils  as  Girodet,  Guerin, 


IRevolutton  an^  Bmpire  769 


Jean  Baptiste  Regnault,  and  Francois  Andre  Vincent. 

But  one  artist  held  aloof.  Prudhon  is  distinguished 
from  the  mass  of  learned  artists  by  his  delicate  and 
refmed  poetic  qualities.  While  the  others  with  sober 
intellectuality  constructed  pictures  of  antique  frag- 
ments of  form,  Prudhon  really  bore  the  gods  of  Greece 
in  his  heart,  and  without  troubling  himself  about 
academic  formulas  felt  as  a  Grecian.  Under  his  hand 
the  antique  arose  anew  in  dreamy  beauty,  in  the  spirit 
of  his  own  modern  sentiment  and  of  the  great  masters 
of  the  Renaissance,  who  had  awakened  it  to  life  three 
centuries  earlier.  Even  as  a  colourist  Prudhon  held 
an  exceptional  position  among  masters  of  his  time. 
While  with  the  others  colour  had  to  yield  to  rigid  Hne, 
Prudhon  possessed  the  soft  light  and  shade,  the  tender 
morhideiia  of  the  Lombards. 

Even  the  hasty  sketches  with  which  he  supported 
himself  during  his  youth,  vignettes  for  letter  paper, 
visiting-cards,  invitations  to  balls,  and  pictures  for 
bonbonnieres,  are  richer  in  poetry  than  the  pretentious 
compositions  of  David's  pupils.  They  unite  French 
grace  with  the  beauty  of  Hne  of  antique  gems.  His 
celebrated  picture  of  1808,  Justice  and  Vengeance 
Pursuing  Crime,  is  from  the  standpoint  of  colour  the 
most  clever  achievement  of  French  classicism.  In  his 
endeavour  to  render  the  tone  and  the  softness  of  flesh 
in  the  most  dainty  manner  possible,  Prudhon  sought 
for  an  illumination  which  would  increase  the  clearness 
of  the  nude  body,  and  found  it  in  the  hour  when  moon- 


770        XTriumpb  of  tbe  JSouraeoisie 


light  spreads  its  silver  rays  over  the  earth.  While 
nature  lies  in  colourless  twilight,  the  wan  paleness  of 
the  human  body  seems  to  have  absorbed  all  light  and 
to  radiate  it.  In  a  lonely  and  deserted  place  the 
murderer  leaves  his  victim,  the  nude  body  of  a  youth 
over  which  the  moon  pours  its  ghostlike  rays;  but 
over  him,  like  cloud  pictures,  hover  the  avenging  di- 
vinities. In  his  other  works  Prudhon  was  more  inter- 
ested in  the  joyful,  veiled  myths  of  antiquity.  He  to 
whom  love  had  given  little  happiness,  rose  upon  the 
wings  of  art  into  the  domain  of  fabulous  love.  In  the 
evening  twilight  Psyche  is  borne  by  Zephyrus  to  Eros's 
nuptial  couch;  or  she  descends  to  the  bath  in  a  still 
mountain  lake  and  gazes  astonished  at  her  own  picture 
in  the  gleaming  mirror;  or  she  is  visited  by  dreamy 
geniuses  in  the  cool  shade  of  the  wood  in  the  shimmering 
moonlight. 

These  pictures  of  Prudhon  have  even  been  compared 
with  Correggio's,  but  the  difference  is  greater  than  the 
resemblance.  Not  only  in  the  rigid  draughtsmanship 
of  the  Empire  does  Prudhon  differ  from  the  elder 
painter,  but  in  his  sad  and  dreamy  melancholy.  Cor- 
reggio  knew  nothing  of  the  pale  moonlight  gliding 
over  snowy  bodies,  or  of  the  soft  longing  which  pul- 
sates through  all  the  works  of  Prudhon.  The  laughter 
of  his  goddesses,  so  sweet  and  seductive,  is  changed 
with  Prudhon  into  smiles  amid  tears.  He  and  David 
are  sons  of  the  same  epoch,  and  have  both  seen  the 
guillotine.    David  painted  the  Plutonic  spirit  of  ter- 


1Re\?oluUon  auD  jEmpire  771 


rorism  and  felt  like  Hercules  cleaning  the  Augean 
stables.  When  he  made  his  appearance,  the  Mar- 
seillaise sounded  majestically  through  the  land, 
proclaiming  the  fall  of  all  Bastilles  and  of  all  thrones, 
the  deliverance  of  mankind  from  the  bonds  of  serv- 
itude. Men  hoped  for  a  time  when  freedom  and 
virtue  should  reign,  when  all  men  should  be  Gracchi, 
all  women  Cornelias.  But  Prudhon  lived  to  see  that 
all  these  dreams  only  awakened  the  beast  in  man. 
Freedom  was  followed  by  a  reign  of  terror  and  this 
by  universal  despotism.  He  had  seen  men  whom 
he  loved  die  under  the  axe  of  the  executioner,  and 
had  heard  the  wings  of  the  death-angel  rustle  over 
the  earth.  Through  all  his  works  runs  the  elegiac 
question  "Why?" — something  like  the  sound  of  a 
death-knell  or  of  subdued  tears.  His  brow  is  fur- 
rowed, his  cheek  is  pale,  and  his  eye  dimmed  by  a 
veil  of  tears.  An  unspeakable  pain  is  mingled  with 
the  sweetness  of  his  smile. 

And  yet  another  thing  he  bewails:  the  world  of 
beauty  which  democracy  had  destroyed.  David  was 
a  man  of  the  new  epoch,  and  placed  his  art  at  the 
service  of  a  young,  democratic  race.  Prudhon,  al- 
though younger  than  he,  still  belongs  in  character  to 
the  old  order  of  things.  He  is  not  crude  and  demo- 
cratic like  David,  but  appears  in  his  portrait  aristo- 
cratic and  refined,  pale  and  pampered.  In  his  youth 
he  revered  Fragonard  and  Greuze,  and  dreams  of 
beauty  filled  his  mind.    Now  all  that  was  passed: 


772       ITrtumpb  of  tbe  Bouroeotste 

the  smoke  of  powder  had  gathered  between  past  and 
present.  In  the  white  salons  which  had  formerly  been 
flooded  by  the  light  of  Venetian  chandeliers,  the  pale 
moonlight  shone.  Dust  has  gathered  in  the  corners; 
the  gold  of  the  ornaments  has  crumbled  off ;  the  gobe- 
lins are  frayed  at  the  bottom;  the  ceiling-paintings 
are  pale,  the  roses  dry,  and  the  silken  tapestry  has  been 
-eaten  by  mice.  Spiders  weave  their  webs  over  the 
ivory  fans;  the  old  sofas  shake  upon  their  curved 
golden  legs.  The  cultivated  race  of  aristocracy  has 
been  followed  by  citizens  to  whom  art  is  strange. 
Army  contractors,  speculators  of  the  exchange,  and 
corn  usurers  surround  themselves  with  the  treasures 
which  the  impoverished  noble  families  have  sold. 
Prudhon,  the  spiritual  relative  of  Madame  Lebrun, 
thinks  sadly  of  past  days:  he  is  a  master  of  the  Rococo 
in  the  garb  of  the  Empire;  a  son  of  the  ancient  aristo- 
cratic world,  who  has  survived  like  a  phantom  into  the 
democratic  century.  If  he  so  frequently  paints  the 
tender  Pscyhe  borne  by  Zephyrus  into  the  Elysian 
fields,  it  seems  as  if  he  thought  of  his  own  art  which 
found  no  more  room  upon  the  rude  earth. 

It).  Gla66ic(6m  in  Germans 

Although  Germany  experienced  no  revolution,  it 
followed  similar  artistic  paths,  and  this  is  to  be 
explained  by  other,  by  scientific  reasons.  Men's 
minds  were  occupied  by  the  excavations  of  Her- 
culaneum  and  Pompeii;    the  ruins  of  Psestum  had 


FRAGONARD 


THE  SWING 

Wallace  Collection,  London 


f 


Classicism  in  ©ermany  773 


been  explored;  Greek  vases  were  made  known  by 
Hamilton,  and  Roman  monuments  by  Piranesi.  In 
1762  Stuart  and  Revett's  great  work  on  the  antiquities 
of  Athens  appeared,  and  in  1764  Winckelmann  wrote 
his  History  of  Ancient  Art.  Winckelmann's  whole 
artistic  activity  was  a  hymn  to  the  recently  discovered 
antique  art.  Poetry  followed;  for  after  the  inspired 
wildness  of  the  storm  and  stress"  period  it  was  a 
natural  reaction  to  praise  the  measured  beauty  of 
Greek  art  as  the  highest  attainable.  Goethe,  the  author 
of  Werther  and  Got^  was  transformed  into  the  poet  of 
Iphigenie,  and  Schiller,  who  had  written  Die  Rduher, 
became  the  singer  of  the  gods  of  Greece.  In  conse- 
quence of  this  antiquarian  current,  painting  also  was 
guided  into  a  direction  similar  to  that  which  had  been 
caused  by  the  Revolution  in  France.  Its  development 
is  henceforth  determined  by  the  paths  upon  which 
literature,  the  prevailing  intellectual  factor,  moved. 
Indeed,  painting  so  far  relinquished  its  independence 
as  to  accept  its  rules  from  authors.  While  earlier 
authors  like  Vasari,  van  Mander,  and  Sandrart,  who 
were  themselves  artists,  had  only  followed  the  modest 
aim  of  giving  to  later  times  notes  on  art  and  artists 
scholars  now  put  forth  the  claim  to  direct  the  paths 
of  art  and  sit  in  judgment  upon  its  achievements. 
For  the  aesthetics  of  that  day  did  not  fmd  its  aim  in 
discovering  what  was  beautiful  in  works  of  art,  but 
wished  to  tell  the  artist  how  he  must  create  them. 
And  as  the  scholar  who  is  destitute  of  a  creative  vein 


774        XTriumpb  of  tbe  Bourgeoisie 


can  only  conceive  of  the  beautiful  in  the  form  of  some 
already  existing  beauty,  their  instruction  consisted 
in  recommending  to  the  artist  the  imitation  of  an 
older  and  greater  epoch,  and  chiefly  the  Hellenic. 

Although  independent  works  of  art  cannot  originate 
in  this  way,  it  was  nevertheless,  compared  with  the 
inartistic  age  of  enlightenment,  a  gain  for  culture 
that  the  age  once  more  attempted  to  enter  into  relation 
with  art.   The  authors  not  only  considered  themselves 
the  teachers  of  the  artists,  but  were  also  concerned 
with  the  aesthetic  education  of  the  citizen.   The  new 
middle-class  society  could  only  attain  art  by  educating 
its  taste  on  the  model  of  the  great  civilisation  of  the 
past;  and  the  new  art  could  only  be  maintained  by 
leaning  upon  the  art  of  the  great  epochs  of  the  past. 
Even  before  the  scholars  began  to  participate,  the 
artists  had  themselves  sought  to  enter  into  such  rela- 
tions to  ancient  art,  some  by  imitating  the  Dutch, 
others  by  following  the  Bolognese.    The  great  artists 
brought  system  into  this  planless  search  by  pointing 
to  the  age  in  which  they  saw  the  realisation  of  the 
highest  ideal  of  an  aesthetic  culture,  and  they  followed 
in  this  a  carefully  considered  plan  of  instruction.  The 
eye  of  the  German  bourgeois  would  not  yet  have  been 
receptive  to  delicacies  and  caprices  of  colour.   His  taste 
could  best  be  formed  by  pictures  composed  in  accor- 
dance with  the  simplest  and  severest  laws  and  which 
were  drawn  in  rigid  plastic  outlines.    The  circum- 
stance that  all  the  young  German  painters  took  up 


Classicism  in  Germanic  775 


their  residence  in  Rome  shows  clearly  how  unsuitable 
for  artistic  creation  the  soil  of  their  home  seemed  to 
them. 

It  was  in  Dresden,  the  classic  home  of  the  German 
Rococo,  that  the  movement  began.  Nine  years  before 
the  appearance  of  his  History  of  Ancient  Art,  in  1755, 
Winckelmann  published  his  first  treatise,  Thoughts  on 
the  Imitation  of  Greek  Works,  the  content  of  which 
culminated  in  this  statement:  "The  only  way  for  us 
to  become  great  and  possibly  inimitable  is  to  imitate 
the  ancients."  As  the  new  German  art  which  had 
gradually  risen  after  the  upheaval  of  the  "storm  and 
stress"  period  needed  a  staff  upon  which  it  could  lean, 
the  teaching  of  Winckelmann  became  the  gospel  of  the 
epoch.  "  By  studying  the  works  of  Greek  sculptors 
the  painter  can  attain  the  sublimest  conceptions  of 
beauty,  and  learn  what  must  be  added  to  nature  in 
order  to  give  to  the  imitation  dignity  and  propriety," 
says  Salomon  Gessner  in  1759.  In  1766  Lessing 
wrote  his  Laocoon,  in  which,  like  Winckelmann,  he 
recommended  Greek  sculpture  as  the  ideal  to  be  imi- 
tated. In  like  manner  Goethe  taught  that  Greek  art 
was  an  absolutely  exemplary  model  from  which  a  fixed 
canon  determinative  for  the  artists  of  all  times  could 
be  derived ;  and  that  the  composition  of  pictures  should 
correspond  strictly  with  the  style  of  the  antique  relief. 

A  few  opposed  this  Hellenic  programme.  "Every 
land  has  its  individual  art,  Hke  its  cHmate  and  its  land- 
scape, Hke  its  food  and  drink,"  says  Heine  in  his 


776        XTrmmpb  ot  tbe  Bouroeoiste 


Ardinghello.  "It  is  high  treason  to  maintain  that  the 
Greeks  cannot  be  surpassed,"  wrote  Klopstock.  At  a 
later  period  Madame  de  Stael  in  her  book  on  Germany 
wrote:  "If  at  the  present  day  the  fine  arts  should  be 
confined  to  the  simpHcity  of  the  ancients,  we  could 
never  attain  the  original  power  which  distinguishes 
them,  and  the  deep  and  complex  sentiment  which 
exists  with  us  would  be  lost.  With  the  modern  sim- 
plicity would  easily  become  affectation,  whereas  with 
the  ancients  it  was  full  of  life."  The  sharpest  dissent 
was  expressed  by  Herder  in  his  Vieries  kriitsches  Wdld- 
chen:  "The  sculptor  indeed  cannot  render  morning  and 
evening,  lightning  and  thunder,  brook  and  flame,  but 
why  should  this  be  denied  to  the  painter?  What  other 
law  exists  for  painting  than  to  reflect  the  great  picture 
of  nature  with  all  of  its  phenomena?  And  with  what 
charm  she  does  this!  They  are  not  wise  who  scorn 
landscape  painting  and  forbid  it  to  the  artist.  It  is  as 
much  as  to  say  that  a  painter  should  be  no  painter, 
but  should  carve  statues  with  his  brush!  Certainly, 
the  Greek  monuments  shine  like  beacon  lights  in  the 
sea  of  time;  but  they  should  be  only  friends  and  not 
commanders.  Painting  is  a  magic  panel,  as  extensive 
as  the  world,  in  which  every  figure  certainly  cannot  be  a 
statue.  Otherwise  a  feeble  monotony  of  long-shanked, 
straight-nosed  Greek  figures  will  result.  Affectation 
will  prevent  us  from  depicting  our  own  age  and  the 
most  fruitful  subjects  of  history,  and  all  feeling  of 
individual  truth  and  certainty  will  be  lost." 


Classicism  in  Germany 


777 


But  these  voices  were  isolated.  Winckelmann  had 
no  sooner  indicated  the  aim,  than  Anton  Rafael  Mengs 
put  the  teachings  of  his  friend  into  practice.  This 
master,  who  reposes  in  the  Pantheon  by  the  side  of 
Raphael,  was  an  artist  of  persistent  will-power,  and  he 
devoted  his  whole  life  to  guiding  young  German  art 
to  the  grandeur  of  the  antique.  His  earliest  works 
were  rooted  in  an  ancient  courtly  culture;  for  he  had 
begun  at  the  court  of  Dresden  with  pastel  portraits 
which  were  quite  in  line  with  the  taste  of  the  Rococo 
and  re-echoed  its  last  achievements.  He  had  also 
painted  oil  portraits,  as  distinguished  in  their  delicate 
grey  tone  as  they  were  powerful  in  their  directness; 
which  were  in  no  respect  either  hazy  or  insipid.  But 
in  his  large  altar-pieces  he  remembered  the  mission 
which  his  father  had  assigned  him  in  his  cradle  when 
he  christened  him  with  the  given  names  of  Allegri  and 
Santi — that  is  to  say,  he  makes  the  impression  of  a 
pupil  of  the  Caracci.  In  his  need  of  leaning  upon 
an  ancient  epoch,  he  sought  in  the  spirit  of  the  Bolog- 
nese  to  give  his  pictures  the  style  of  the  cinquecento, 
the  serene  flowing  line  of  Raphael  and  the  light  and 
shade  of  Correggio.  But  in  his  Parnassus  of  the  Villa 
Albani  he  has  gone  back  to  the  original  source:  the 
imitator  of  the  cinquecentisti  has  become  the  pupil  of 
Winckelmann  and  the  Greeks.  The  picture  has  been 
called  a  depot  of  plastic  wares,  a  collection  of  painted 
statues;  and  it  is  true  that  in  its  cold  correctness  it 
seems  to  be  the  labour  rather  of  a  scholar  than  a 


778         XTrtumpb  of  tbe  Bouraeoisie 


painter.  In  the  manner  in  which  he  endeavours  by 
means  of  scholarship  to  discover  the  essence  of  art, 
Mengs  is  the  true  contemporary  of  Winckelmann. 
The  difference  is  not  only  an  external  one;  instead  of 
perspective  effects,  gobelins  nailed  fast  to  the  ceiling; 
instead  of  figures  hovering  to  and  fro,  a  mathematically 
calculated 'composition;  instead  of  painting,  sculpture. 
The  difference  consists  in  this,  that  from  Tiepolo's 
work  a  great,  freely  creating  artist  speaks,  while  Mengs 
is  only  the  amanuensis  of  the  scholar.  Whatever 
is  good  in  his  pictures  is  due  to  his  courtly  and  realistic 
past.  The  colour  preserves  a  certain  nobility;  the  line 
is  as  sure  as  that  of  an  old  master;  and  even  the 
faces,  notwithstanding  their  Greek  profiles,  are  free 
from  an  idealised  generality.  They  were  designed  by 
a  master  who  could  also  paint  portraits  of  a  sharp 
individuality. 

A  reflection  of  the  ancient  aristocratic  culture  also 
lies  over  Angelica  Kauffmann's  works.  A  soft  and 
sympathetic  talent  and  a  truly  feminine  nature,  she 
supplemented  the  severity  demanded  by  Winckelmann 
with  a  dainty  addition  of  charming  grace.  Cornelia, 
the  Mother  of  the  Gracchi,  the  Death  of  Alcestis,  Hero 
and  Leander — such  are  the  principal  subjects  which 
she  treated  in  an  insipid,  affectedly  coloured,  and 
intellectual  manner.  The  Italian  Battoni's  coquettish 
conception  of  the  antique  probably  bears  the  greatest 
resemblance  to  her  smooth,  pleasing,  and  insinuating 
manner.   Compared  with  Mengs,  she  has  a  more 


ANGELICA  KAUFFMANN 


THE  VESTAL  VIRGIN 

Dresden  Gallery 


Classiciem  in  Oermani^  779 


sentimental  and  softer  effect.  She  differs  from 
Madame  Vigee-Leburn,  the  aristocrat,  in  a  certain 
bourgeois  beauty,  resembling  those  soft  retouches  by 
which  a  photographer  makes  his  portraits  pleasing  to 
the  public.  But  her  Festal  Virgin  in  the  Dresden 
Gallery,  the  ancestor  of  all  the  beauties  whom  at  a 
later  period  Blaas,Vinea,  Seiffert,and  Beischlag  painted, 
is  a  picture  worthy  to  fmd  a  place  in  any  collection. 
The  soft  and  dainty  chords  of  colour  which  she  touches 
have  more  in  common  with  the  Rococo  than  with  the 
young  "bourgeois  art  of  the  epoch. 

The  two  Suabians,  Eberhard  Wachter  and  Gottlieb 
Schick,  also  preserved  a  certain  degree  of  excellence  as 
regards  colour,  because  they  had  studied  under  David. 
The  first  to  carry  out  uncompromisingly  the  programme 
of  German  classicism  was  Carstens. 

It  is  difficult  to  assume  a  positive  position  in  regard 
to  Carstens's  art.  To  Mengs  he  bears  a  relation  similar 
to  that  of  Prudhon  to  David,  or  of  Goethe  the  poet 
to  Winckelmann  the  scholar.  As  regards  the  antique 
he  is  not,  like  Mengs,  a  mere  adapter  of  Greek  forms, 
but  he  lives  in  the  classic  past,  and  the  world  of  the 
Greek  poets  is  his  spiritual  home.  While  Mengs  did 
not  progress  beyond  the  mere  arrangement  of  antique 
motives,  beyond  an  intellectual  and  learned  art,  with 
Carstens  a  poetic  conception  prevails;  the  free  and 
creative  reproduction  of  images  which  are  not  external 
but  which  live  in  his  spirit.  More  than  Mengs  had 
ever  succeeded  in  doing,  he  mastered  at  Rome  the 


78o 


Uriumpb  of  tbe  JBour^eoiste 


simplicity  and  the  distinction  of  Greek  art,  and  attained 
a  perfection  of  line  in  which  archaeologists  saw  the 
acme  of  classicism.  The  Greek  Heroes  with  Chiron, 
Helen  before  the  Sccean  Gate,  Ajax,  Phcenix,  and 
Odysseus  in  the  Tent  of  Achilles,  Priam  and  Achilles, 
The  Fates,  Night  with  her  Children,  Sleep  and  Death, 
the  Ferry  of  Megapenthes,  Homer  before  the  People, 
the  Golden  Age — all  these  prints  possess  what  Winckel- 
mann  called  the  "noble  simplicity  and  silent  greatness" 
of  Hellenic  art.  Reading  the  biography  of  this  master, 
one  is  filled  with  respect  for  a  martyr  who  sacrificed 
himself  to  an  ideal.  Standing  in  Rome  at  the  grave 
of  the  lonely  man  near  the  pyramid  of  Cestius,  one  is 
inclined  to  agree  with  the  statement  of  the  inscription 
which  praises  him  as  the  renewer  of  German  artistic 
activity. 

But  is  this  possible?  Does  not  Carstens's  activity 
rather  indicate  the  moment  in  which  all  tradition  is 
at  an  end,  and  the  new,  on  a  tabula  rasa,  begins;  when 
the  artist  has  ceased  to  exist,  and  only  the  author 
remains?  One  can  well  understand,  from  the  stand- 
point of  the  history  of  culture,  that  in  such  a  time  of 
literary  activity  a  painter  like  Carstens  had  to  appear. 
At  the  time  when  Goethe  wrote  Iphigenie,  Carstens 
illustrated  the  ancient  poets;  in  the  paper  epoch  he 
founded  the  paper  style;  at  a  period  when  all  great 
spirits  wielded  the  pen,  a  painter  also  wields  the  pen 
instead  of  the  brush.  But  however  characteristic 
this  is,  what  is  its  significance  for  the  history  of  art.? 


Classicism  in  Oermani?  7S1 


Must  not  the  thought  of  the  least  of  the  old  masters 
prevent  us  from  counting  Carstens  a  painter?  For 
by  seeking  the  value  of  his  works  exclusively  in  the 
poetic  element,  in  invention,  he  forgot  his  own  pro- 
fession. While  Mengs  could  still  draw,  Carstens  no 
longer  possessed  this  ability. 

But  what  made  his  activity  so  important  in  the 
development  of  German  art  is  that  he  drew  the  logical 
consequences  from  Winckelmann's  teachings  by  dis- 
pensing with  colour.  "Colour,  light  and  shade,  do  not 
make  a  painting  as  valuable  as  noble  outline";  so  the 
scholars  had  written,  and  in  this  colour-blindness  Car- 
stens is  the  true  son  of  a  new  bourgeois  age,  to  which 
the  contemplation  of  noble  colour  did  not  yet  signify 
an  aesthetic  pleasure.  This  linear  style  was  the  founda- 
tion of  Carstens's  art.  While  over  the  works  of  Graff, 
those  of  Edlinger  at  Munich,  of  Vogel  at  Dresden,  and 
even  over  those  of  Mengs  and  Kauffmann,  a  reflection 
of  the  old  and  distinguished  past  still  gleams,  with 
Carstens  the  new  bourgeois  and  exclusively  literary 
art  of  Germany  begins,  and  quite  without  colour — a 
"  paper  style."  The  Danish  note  in  his  works  consists 
in  the  same  impotence  which  even  the  creations  of  a 
modern  artist  like  Jacobsen  have:  that  for  very  dream- 
ing he  never  came  to  action,  from  pure  contemplation 
he  never  came  to  work,  and  from  hazy  enthusiasm 
he  never  came  to  learn. 

This,  then,  is  the  great  difference  between  French 
and  German  classicism,  that  in  France  a  fragment  of 


782        XTriumpb  of  tbe  JBourgeotsie 

the  sensual,  a  remnant  of  the  old  culture  was  saved 
for  the  nineteenth  century.  However  much  he  battled 
against  his  predecessors,  David  as  a  technician  did 
not  dispense  with  the  heritage  of  the  Rococo,  and 
Prudhon  ranks  as  a  painter  with  the  most  delicate 
of  the  old  masters.  German  classicism,  on  the  other 
hand,  deprived  of  all  sensuality  and  the  pure  product 
of  the  brain,  broke  so  completely  with  the  past  that  it 
did  not  acquire  its  technical  traditions,  but  substituted 
outlines  and  pen  drawings  for  pictures.  The  cartoon, 
the  black  and  white  style,  became  for  a  generation 
the  domain  of  German  art.  And  by  this  surrender 
to  the  technical  ability  which  had  heretofore  been 
handed  down  unchanged  from  one  generation  to  another 
the  future  was  made  the  poorer.  It  revenged  itself 
by  this,  that  the  difficult  art  of  painting  had  to  be 
acquired  anew  by  the  German  artists  of  the  nineteenth 
century. 


Hn&ey 


The  index  supplements  the  critical  treatment  in  the  text 
by  the  addition  of  the  birth  and  death  years  of  the  artists, 
or,  when  these  are  not  obtainable,  the  approximate  date  of 
their  artistic  activity.  The  dates  given  correspond,  in  the 
main,  with  those  appended  to  the  German  edition.  In  ad- 
dition to  these  biographical  data,  other  entries  designed  to 
facilitate  the  use  of  the  work  by  the  student  have  been  added; 
as,  for  example,  the  names  of  prominent  individuals  who  have 
influenced  the  development  of  painting,  whether  as  artists 
in  other  branches,  like  Donate llo,  or  as  patrons,  like  Lorenzo 
de' Medici,  or  as  spiritual  factors  of  the  age,  like  Savonarola; 
and  the  names  of  modem  artists,  like  Bocklin,  frequently  used 
for  purposes  of  comparison.  Notice  has  been  taken  of  im- 
portant artistic  terms,  such  as  Landscape  Painting,  Por- 
traiture, Engraving,  and  Etching.  The  paintings  themselves 
are  classified  under  the  galleries,  churches,  and  other  places 
in  which  they  are  situated,  in  so  far  as  these  are  mentioned  in 
the  text,  to  which  the  name  of  the  artist  is  appended.  Finally 
the  editor  offers  under  the  heading.  Schools  of  Painting,  the 
requisite  entries  for  reference  or  study  of  the  local  and  national 
development  of  the  art,  which  the  author's  psychological 
treatment  would  not  permit  to  be  emphasised  in  the  general 
disposition  of  the  work. 

For  the  purpose  of  easy  identification,  the  names  of  the 
painters  belonging  to  the  period  covered  by  Professor 
Muther's  work  have  been  printed  in  italic  type. — Ed. 

AUichiero  da  Zevio  (c.  1376), 

Amberger,  Christoph  {1500- 
60),  312. 

Bartolommeo, 


von  {1552- 
{1512- 


Aachen,  Hans 

1615),  434 
Abbate,  Niccolo  dell 

71)^  435-6. 
Aertsen,    Pieter  {1507-73), 

495-6,  577-8. 
Albaniy     Francesco  {1578- 

1660),  503-4. 
Alberti,  Leon  Battista,  83, 

114. 

Albertinelli,  Mariotto  {1474- 

1515),  403 
Altdorfer,  Albrecht,  295-9. 


Amman  a  ti 

473-4. 
Amsterdam 
Geertgen 


Rijksmuseum : 
van    St.  Jans, 
230 ;  Hals,  583  ;  Rembrandt 
596,  617. 
Andrea  del  Sarto  {148 7-1 531), 
401-3. 

Angelico,  Fra.  See  Fiesole. 
Animal   Painting:  Flemish, 
559;  Dutch,  632-4. 


783 


784  IFr 

AntoUnez,  Jose  {16 39-76), 
538. 

Antonello  da  Messina  {1444- 

93),  217. 
Antwerp,  Museum:  Massys, 

260;  Jordaens,  553-4;  de 

Vos,  555-6. 
Apt,    Ulrich    {i486  - 1532), 

310-11. 
Aretino,  Pietro,  450. 
Arezzo,  San  Francesco:  Piero 

della  Francesca,  10 1-2. 
Arpino,  Cavaliere  d'  (i  j6o~ 

1640),  489-90. 
Artois,  Jacques  d'  (1618-86), 

559- 

Asselyn,  Jan  (d.  1652),  639. 
Assisi,  San  Francesco:  Cima- 

bue,  21-2;  Giotto,  21-2, 

24. 

Audran,  Claude  (1639-84), 
652. 

Augsburg  Gallery:  Holbein 
the  elder,  257;  Tintoretto, 
455- 

Avanzo,  Jacopo  d'  (c.  1376), 

Averkamp,  Hendrik  (1585- 
1663),  589. 

B 

Bacchiacca,  Francesco  (Uber- 

tini)(i494-i557),  423- 
Backer,  Jacob  Adriaen  (1608- 

57),  619. 
Bakhuyzen,    Ludolf  (1631- 

1708),  640. 
Baldovinetti,    Alesso  (1427- 

99),  142-3. 
Baldung,  Hans  (1480-1545), 

308-9. 

Balen,  Hendrik  van  (1575- 

1632),  556. 
Banco,  Maso  di  (c.  1350),  31. 
Barbarelli,  Giorgo.  See  Gior- 

gione. 

Barbari,  Jacopo  de'  (1472- 

1515),  229. 
Barentsz,  Dirk  (1534-92), 

577- 


Bartolommeo,   Fra  (1475— 

1517),  403-6. 
Basaiti,  Marco    (d.  1521), 

226. 

Basel  Museum:  Holbein  the 

younger,  319. 
Bassani,  The  (i6th  century), 

379,  380. 
Baudouin,    Pierre  Antoine 

(1723-69),  709-10. 
Bazzi,     Giovanni  Antonio 

(1477-1549),  336-8. 
Beerstraten,  Jan  (1622-87), 

638. 

Bega,  Cornelis  (i620-64),626. 
Beham,    Barthel  (1502-40), 
294. 

Beijeren,  Abraham  (1620-74), 
641. 

Bellini,  Giovanni  (1427- 
1516),  217-24,  225,  286-7, 
309- 

B  ere  hem,  Nicolas  (1620-83), 
639. 

Berckheyde,  G  err  it  (1638-98), 
640-1. 

Berckheyde,  Jacob  (1630-93), 
640-1 . 

Bergamo,  San  Bartolommeo: 
Lotto,  448. 

Berlin  Gallery :  Jan  van 
Eyck,  78-9;  Castagno,  89; 
Domenico  Veneziano,  91; 
Filippo  Lippi,  93 ;  Tura, 
112;  Ercole  dei  Roberti, 
113;  Signorelli,  i3i;Fouc- 
quet,  141,  435;  Piero  Pol- 
lajuolo,  146-7;  Piero  di 
Cosimo,  162-3;  Botticelli, 
174,  176;  Borgognone,  215  ; 
Leonardo,  245;  Massys, 
261 ;  Durer,2  88;  Amberger, 
312;  Melzi,  333-4;  Bolt- 
raffio,  333;  Titian,  370; 
Moretto,  381;  Savoldo, 
382;  Sebastiano  del  Piom- 
bo,  383;  Gossart,  431; 
Guido  Reni,  487;  Cara- 
vaggio,  493  ;  Zurbaran,  515; 
Cano,  529;  van  Dyck,  564; 
Hals,     583;  Rembrandt, 


78s 


595,  614;  de  Gelder,  621; 

Mignard,  659. 
Berlin,  Royal  Palace:  Wat- 

teau,  676-7. 
Beukelaer,  Joachim  {c.  1559- 

75)^  496. 
Blanchard,  Jacques {16 00- 38), 
652. 

Bleeker,  Gerrit  {d.  1656),  633. 
Bles,   Hendrik    {i  480-1 521), 

265-6. 
Boccaccio,  337. 
Bocklin,  Arnold,  15 1-3,  168, 

223,  280,  440,  502. 
Boel,Pieter  (1622-^4),  559. 
Bol,    Ferdinand  {1611-80), 

619. 

BoL,  Hans  {1534-93),  5^9- 
Bologna,  San  Petronio :  Ercole 

dei  Roberti,  11 2-13. 
BoUraffio,     Antonio  {1467- 

1516),  332-3. 
Bonifazii,  The  (16th  century), 

379-80. 

Bonifazio  Veronese  the  elder 

{d.  1540)  379-80. 
Bordone,    Paris  {1500-70), 

378-9. 

Borgo  San  Sepolcro,  Miseri- 

cordia:  Piero  della  Fran- 

cesca,  99. 
Borgognone,  Amhrogio  {1445- 

1523),  215-16. 
Bosch,    Hieronymus  {1460- 

1516),  264-5. 
Both,  Jan  {1610-51),  639. 
Botticelli,  Sandro  {1446- 

1510),  173-87,  190-1,  218- 

19. 

Boucher,  Frangois  {1703-70), 
698-709,  710,  717,  718. 

Bourdon,  Sebastien  {1616- 
71),  650. 

Boursse,  Esaias  {c.  1650-72), 
631. 

Bouts,  Dirk  {1400-75),  80-1. 
Brakenburgh,  Richard  (16^0- 

1702),  626. 
Bray,  Jan  de  {d.  1697),  586. 
Breenberg,  Bartholomeus 

{1600-60),  589. 


Brekelenkam,  Quirin  ic.  J648- 

68),  632. 
Bril,  Paul  {1554-1626),  504- 

5- 

Bronzino,  Agnolo   {c.  1502- 

1572),  425. 
Brouwer,  Adriaen  {1605-38), 

587-8. 

Brueghel,  Jan  {1568-162 5), 
556- 

Brueghel,   Pieter    {i  52  5-69 ) , 

496-99- 

Brunelleschi,  83. 

Brunswick  Museum :  Rem- 
brandt, 606,  616-7  5  Livens, 
619. 

Brussels  Museum :  Massys, 
261;  Gossart,  431;  Sil- 
berechts,  558. 

Bruyn,  Barthel  {149 3-1 556), 
434. 

Buckingham   Palace :  Rem- 
brandt, 601,  604,  606. 
Bugiardini,  Giuliano  {1475- 

1554)^  424. 
Burgkmair,     Hans  {1473- 

1531)^ 

Burne-Jones,    Sir  Edward, 

185,  216. 
Byzantine  Art,  6-9,  12,  13, 

25,  44-5. 


Cagliari,  Paolo.  5^^  Veronese. 
Campana.   See  Kempeneer. 
Canaletto,    Antonio  {1697- 

1768),  757- 
Canaletto,   Bernardo  {1720- 

80),  757. 
Cano,  Alonso  {1601-67),  528- 

9- 

Capelle,  Jan  van  de  {c.  1650-^ 

80),  615-6,  620-1. 
Caraffa    {Pope    Paul  IV.), 

448,  460,  472,  477-8. 
Caravaggio,  Michelangelo  da 

{1569-1609),  489-94,  499- 

500. 

Carducho,    Vincente  {1578- 
1683),  463-4. 


786 


Carlos,  Frey  (c.  1530),  462. 
Carpaccio,     Vittore  {1470- 

1322),  227-9. 
Carracci,    Agostino  {1557- 

1602),  483-7,  493,  503. 
Carracci,    Annibale  {ij6o- 

1609),  483-7,  503- 
Carracci,    Lodovico  {1555- 

1619),  483-7,  503- 
Carreno  de  Miranda,  Jtian 

{1614-85),  527-8. 
Carriera,     Rosalba  {1675- 

1757),  692-3. 
Carstens,  Asmus  Jacob  {1754- 

98),  779-82. 
Cassel  Gallery:  Rembrandt, 

599,  612-13. 
Castagno,  Andrea  del  {1390- 

1457),  88-9,  91,  99,  102-3, 

115,  146. 
Castelfranco  Cathedral:  Gior- 

gione,  340-1 . 
Castiglione,  Baldassare,  356. 
Castiglione,  Benedetto  {1616- 

70),  500. 
Castiglione    d'Olona:  Maso- 

lino,  56. 
Cennini,  Cennino    (c.  1398), 

24-5- 

Cerezo,  Matteo  {1635-75),  530. 
Cerquozzi, Michelangelo  {1602- 

60),  500. 
Cespedes,  Pablo  {i 538-1608), 

Champaigne,     Philippe  de 

{1602-74),  649-50. 
Chantilly  Museum:  Raphael, 

410. 

Chardin,  Jean  Baptiste  Sim- 
eon {1698-1776),  685-7. 

Charles  V.,  Emperor,  368, 
369,  370. 

Chodowiecki,  Daniel  {1726- 
1801),  744-6. 

Christ  in  art,  12-15,  20,  22, 
29,  67,  328,  533-4. 

Christianity,  Influence  of,  up- 
on art,  3-7. 

Christian  painting.  Early,  4  5. 

Cima  da  Conegliano  {1489- 
1508),  225-6. 


Cimabue,    Giovanni  {1240- 

1302),  13,  21-22. 
Cinquecento,     356-63,  481, 

483. 

Claesz,  Pieter  {d.  1661),  590. 
Classicism  in   painting,  760- 
82. 

Claude  Lorrain  {Gelee){i6oo- 

82),  509-10. 
Cleve,  Joost  van  {1511-54), 

432-3- 

Clouet,  Frangois  {1500-72), 
435- 

Clouet,  Jean  {d.  1540),  435. 
Cochin,    Nicolas  {1715-90), 
690. 

Codde,  Pieter  {c.  1627-42), 
587- 

Coello,  Alonso  {1515-90), 
462-3. 

Coello,  Claudia  {1621-93), 
530- 

Coimbria,  Velascoda  {c.  1520) 
462. 

Colmar  JMuseum :  Schongauer, 
255;  Grunewald,  306-7 

Cologne,  Archiepiscopal  Mu- 
seum: Lochner,  47-8. 

 Cathedral:  Wynrich,  18. 

Conegliano.  See  Cima  da 
Conegliano. 

Coninxloo,  Gillis  van  {1544- 
1607),  557. 

Conti,  Bernardino  de'  {ft.  c. 
1510),  336. 

Cornelissen,  Cornelis  {1562- 
1638),  433. 

Coques,  Gonzales  {1618-84), 
556-  . 

Correggio,  Antonio  Allegri  da 
{1494-1534),  345-55.  707- 
8. 

Cosimo,  Piero  di  {1462-1 521), 

162-73,  181. 
Cossa,  Francesco   {c.  1456- 

74),  III. 
Counter  -  reformation.  The, 

438-9,    454,    456,  460-1, 

467,  471-83,  541-3- 
Courtois,  Jacques  {Le  Bour- 

guignon)    {1621-76),  650. 


787 


Cousin,  Jean  (i^oo-Sg),  436. 
Coxie,  Michael  (i4Qy-i^g2), 
433. 

Coypel,  Antoine  {1661-1722), 
652. 

Coy  pel,      Charles  Antoine 

{1694-1752),  694. 
Coypel,    Noel  {1628-1707), 

659- 

Coypel,  Noel  Nicolas  {1692- 

1722),  694. 
Cranach,  Lucas  {1472-1553), 

300-4. 

Crayer,    Jaspar   de  {1584- 

1669),  555. 
Credi,    Lorenzo    di  {1459- 

1534),  188-90. 
Cristus,  Petrus  {c.  1444-72), 

79-80. 

Crivelli,     Carlo  {1450-93), 
202-7. 

Cuyp,  Aelhert  {1605-91),  638. 
Cuyp,  Jacob  Gerritsz  {1575- 
1649)^  578. 


Dante,  34,  38. 

Darmstadt  Gallery:  Holbein, 
319-20;  Rembrandt,  617 

David,  Gerard  {1450-1523), 
237-8. 

David,  Jacques  Louis  {1748- 

1825),  765-8,  770-1- 
Death,  Allegories  of,  35. 
Denner,     Balthasar     {168  5- 

1749),  746. 
Desportes,  Alexandre  {1661- 

1743)^  652. 
Diderot,    Denis,    698,  716, 

717,  720,  726-7. 
Diepenheeck,    Abraham  van 

{1 596-167 5),  S55-  .  ^ 
Domenichino  {Domemco  Zam~ 

pieri)  {1581-1641),  488. 
Dominican  art,  31-33,  192. 
Donatello,   87-8,   109,  115, 

120-1. 

Dou,  Gerard  {1613-75),  643- 
4. 

Dresden,  Gallery.  Diirer,  287; 


Giorgione,  344-5;  Correg- 
gio,  351;  Raphael,^  419; 
Caravaggio,  498;  Elshei- 
mer,  509:  Ribera,  513; 
Zurbaran,5i5 ;  Rembrandt, 
593,  599,  601,  604;  de 
Gelder,  621;  Angelica 
Kauffmann,  778-9. 

Duccio  di  Buoninsegna  {c. 
1260-C.1320),  14. 

Du£k,  Jacob  {c,  1630-50), 
587. 

Dughet,  Caspar d  {called  Pous- 
sin)  {1613-75),  506. 

Dujardin,  Karel  {1625-78), 
639. 

Durer,  Albrecht  {1471-1528), 
62,  253-4,  278-92,  293, 
313-18,  427. 

Diirer 's  engravings.  See  En- 
gravings. 

Dusart,  Cornelis  {1660-1704), 
626. 

Dyck,  Anthonis  van  {1599- 
1641),  523,  560-9. 


E 


Edlinger,     Johann  {1741- 

1819),  781. 
Eeckhout,  Gerbrand  van  den 

{1621-74),  619. 
Eisen,    Charles  {1720-78), 

690. 

Elsheimer,  Adam  {1578- 
1620),  507-9. 

Engravings:  Durer,  270-90, 
287,  316;  the  Little  Mas- 
ters, 293;  Altdorfer,  298; 
Burgkmair,  311;  Holbein 
the  younger,  317-18;  Bou- 
cher, 702 ;  Carstens,  780. 

Erasmus  of  Rotterdam,  253, 

314.  315- 

Etchings:  Rembrandt,  596, 
597,  602,  611,  615;  Ro- 
coco, 690-1;  Boucher,  718; 
Tiepolo,  754;  Goya,  759- 
60;  French,  760. 

Everdingen,  Allart  {1621- 
75)^  638-9. 


788 


Eyck,  van,  Hubert  {c.  1370- 

1426)  ,  59-62 

Eyck,  Jan  van  {0.1380-1440), 
70-5,  78-9,  80,  81,  87,  107, 
139- 

F 

Fabriano,  Gentile  da  {1370- 

1427)  ,  50-1. 

Fabritius,    Caret  {1624-54), 

620,  631. 
Fauray  {Favray) ,  Antoine  de 

{i7o6-8g),  690. 
Ferrara,  Palazzo  Schifanoja; 

frescoes,  iii. 
Ferrari,    Gaudenzio  {1481- 

1546),  336. 
Feselen,  Melchior  {d.  1538), 

300. 

Fie  sole,    Fra    Giovanni  da 
{1387-^455)^  51-4,  105-6. 
Fiore,  Jacopo  del  {1400-39), 

45- 

Flinck,  Govaert  {1615-68), 
619. 

Florence,  Accademia:  Gen- 
tile da  Fabriano,  50;  Filip- 
po  Lippi,  94;  Verrocchio, 
143,  146;  Piero  di  Cosimo, 
170;  Botticelli,  179,  180, 
185;  Lorenzo  di  Credi, 
188;  Filippino  Lippi,  194; 
Fra  Bartolommeo,  405. 

Florence,  Badia:  Filippino 
Lippi,  191. 

 ,  Cathedral:  Uccello,  86; 

Castagno,  89, 

 ,    Mercatoria ;  Antonio 

Pollajuolo,  128. 

 ,  Museo  Nationale :  Cas- 
tagno, 89. 

 ,  Ognisanti :  Ghirlandajo, 

177;  Botticelli,  177. 

'  ,  Palazzo  Riccardi  (for- 
merly Medici):  Gozzoli,  95. 

 ,  Pitti  Gallery:  Antonio 

Pollajuolo.  129;  Fra  Bar- 
tolommeo, 405. 

 ,  San    Marco;  Fiesole, 

53-4. 


 ,  Sant'  Apollonia:  Cas- 
tagno, 89. 

 ,    Santa  Annunciata: 

Baldovinetti,  143. 

 ,  Santa    Croce;  Giotto, 

22,  23,  30;  Castagno,  89; 
Domenico  Veneziano,  91. 

 ,  S.    M.    del  Carmine. 

Brancacci  Chapel"  Masoli- 
55'  5  7~^"'  Masaccio, 
56-9 ;  Filippino  Lippi,  191. 

 ,  S.   M.   Maddalena  dei 

Pazzi:    Perugino,  212-13, 

 ,  S.  M.  Novella,  Spanish 

Chapel,  frescoes,  32-33; 
Uccello,  84:  Castagno,  89; 
van  der  Goes,  138-9;  Do- 
menico Ghirlandajo,  152-3 ; 
Filippino  Lippi,  193-4. 

 ,  Uffizi  Gallery:  van  der 

Weyden,  110;  Antonio 
Pollajuolo,  130;  Piero  di 
Cosimo,  172  ;Botticelli,  174, 
176,  180,  182;  Lorenzo  di 
Credi,  188,  189;  Durer,  286; 
Giorgione,  342  ;  Titian, 373  : 
Sebastiano  del  Piombo, 
383;  Michelangelo,  385; 
Raphael,  411. 

Floris,  Frans  {1517-70),  433, 
436. 

Foppa,  Vincenzo  {c.  1457-92), 
214-15. 

Forli,  Melozzo  da  {1438-94), 

126-8,  134. 
Fosse,  Charles  de  la  {1636- 

1716),  659, 
Foucquet,  Jean  {c.  1415-80), 

i4i,  434-5- 
Fourment,  Helene,  551-2. 
Fragoitard,     Jean  Honore 

{1732-1806),  710-13- 
France  sea,  Piero  della  {1420- 

92),  97,  105,  124-5.  143- 
Francia,    Francesco  {1450- 
213-14- 

Franciabigio  {  1482  -  1523  ), 
423. 

Francis  of  Assisi,  St.,  9-1 1, 
12,  16,  19-22,  30. 


1rn^e^ 


789 


Francken,  Hieronymus  (i 540- 

1610),  436. 
Frankfort  Museum ;  Petrus 

Cristus,    79;   Diirer,  290; 

Cesare  da  Sesto,  336;  Mor- 

etto,  381. 
Freiburg,  Minster:  Baldtmg, 

308. 

Fresco  painting,  30-36. 
Frey  Carlos  {c.  1530),  462. 
Fyt,  Jan  {1611-61),  559. 


Gaddi,  Agnolo  (d.  1396),  31. 
Gaddi,  Taddeo     {d.  1366), 

Gainsborough,  Thomas  (1727- 

ss),  734-41. 

Garbo,  Rafaellino  del  (1466- 

1524),  190. 
Gelder,  Aart  de  {1645-1727), 

621. 

Genoa,  Palazzo  Doria:  Perino 
del  Vaga,  424. 

Genre  painting :  Massys  ;2  6 1  -3 ; 
Lucas  van  Ley  den,  263-4; 
Netherlandish, 49 4-9  ;Cara- 
vaggio,  499-500;  Murillo, 
531 ;  Dutch,  587-8,  618-32, 
643-5;  Le  Nain,  648-9. 

Gessner,  Solomon  {1730-8'/), 
748. 

Ghent,  Justus  van  {b.  141  o), 
141. 

Ghent  altar-piece,  59,  60-62, 
68-72. 

Ghiberti,  Lorenzo,  83,  115. 
Ghirlandaj o ,  Domenico  (144Q- 

94),  152-6, 
Ghirlandajo,  Ridolfo  {1449- 

1561),  424. 
Giacomino  da  Verona,  33. 
Giambone,  Michele  (1430-60), 

45- 

Gillig,  Jacob  {1636-1701), 
641. 

Giltlinger,  Gumpolt  (d.  1522), 
312, 

Giordano,  Luca  {1632-1705), 
494. 


Giorgione  {1478-1510),  339- 
45. 

Giottino  {c.  1350),  31. 
Giotto  di  Bondone  {c.  1266- 

i337)>  20-30,  36,  37,  68, 

77,  82,  114. 
Girodet,   Louis   {i 767-1824), 

768. 

Giulio  Romano  {1492-1546), 
422-3. 

Goes,  Hugo  van  der  {d.  1482), 
134-42,  143.  144-5.  146, 
162, 

Goethe,  742,  744,  748,  773, 
775- 

Gossart,  Jan  {called  Mabuse) 
{1470-1541),  430-2. 

Goya,  Francisco  {1746-1828) 
758-60. 

Goyen,  Jan  van  {1596-16 56), 
635- 

Gozzoli,   Benozzo  {1420-97), 

92-3.  95-6,  ii5>  153-4. 
Graf,  Urs  {i 485-1 536),  315. 
Graff,  Antoine  {1736-1813), 

747- 

Granacci,   Francesco  {1477- 

1533)^  424. 
Gravelot,  Hubert  {1699-1773), 
690. 

Greco,  El  {1548-162 5),  464-5. 
Greuze,  Jean  Baptiste  {1725- 

1805).  717-25,  729,  732. 
Griffier,  Jan  {i656-i7i8),6^g. 
Griinewald,  Matthias  {c.  1500- 

30),  304-8. 
Guardi,  Francesco  {1712-93), 

757- 

Guercino  {Francesco  Barbieri) 

{1591-1666),  488. 
Guerin,  Pierre  {1774-18 33), 

768. 


H 


Hackert,  Philipp  {17 37-1807) 
748. 

Hague,  The,  Museum:  Piero 
di  Cosimo,  171;  Rem- 
brandt. 597,  603-4,  606; 
Fabritius,  620. 


790 


1^n^e^ 


Hals,  Dirk  {1600-56),  587. 
Hals,  Frans  (c.  1 584-1666), 

456'  578,  579-86,  648. 
Hals,    Frans    the  younger 

{i62o-6g),  590. 
Heda,  Willem  Claesz  {1594- 

1678),  590 
He  em.  Come  lis  de  {i6ji-gj), 

641. 

Heem,    Jan  de  (1606-84), 
641. 

Heemskerk,    Marten  {1498- 

^1574)  453^.  ^ 
Heine,  Hemnch  775. 
Heinz,  Joseph  {i 564-1609), 
434. 

Hellenism,  374-5. 

Heist,  Bartholomeus  van  der 

{1613-70),  585. 
Hemessen,  Jan  van  {c.  1519- 

66),  495. 
Hendrickje    Stoffels,  610-2, 

616. 

Henry    VIII.    of  England, 
320-1. 

Herder,    Johann  Gottfried, 
776. 

Herlein,  Friedrich  {d.  1500), 
256. 

H  err  era,    Francisco  {1576- 

1656),  466-7. 
H  err  era,      Francisco      t  h  e 

younger  {1622-85),  538. 
Hey  den,  Jan  van  der  {1637- 

1712),  641,  676. 
Hobhema,    Meindert  {i6jS- 

1709)^  636-7. 
Hogarth,     William  {1697- 

1764),  729,  731-4.  ^  ^ 
Holbein,  Hans  the  elder  {1460- 

1524),  257-8. 
Holbein,  Hans  the  younger 

{i497-i543),^^^4:3^^-p- 
Hondekoeler,  Melchtor  {1636- 

95),  634. 
Honthorst,    Gerhard  {1590- 

1656),  500. 
Honthorst,  Willem  van  {1604- 

66),  578. 
Hooch,  Pieter  de  {1632-81), 

630-1. 


Houasse,  Rene  A.ntoine  {1645- 

1710),  652. 
Huysmans,    Cornelis  {1648- 

1727)^  559- 
Huysmans,  Jan  Baptist  {1654- 

,,n^5\  559- 

Huysum,   Jan  {1682-1749), 
641. 


Impressionism :  Piero  della 
Francesca,  971 ;  Frans  Hals 
583-4;  Fragonard,  711. 


Jacobsz,  Dirk  {1500-67),  597. 
Janssens,  Johannes  {c.  1660), 
631. 

Johannes  de  Alemxinnia  {c. 

1440),  48-9. 
Jordaens,  Jacob  {1593-1678), 

553-5- 

Jouvenet,  Jean  {1644-1717), 
652. 

Juanes,    Vicente  {1523-79), 
465-6. 

Julius  II.,  Pope,  392,  393. 


K 


Kalf,  Willem  {1622-93),  641. 
Kauffmann,  Angelica  {1741- 

1807),  778-9. 
Keirinx,    Alexander  {1600- 

46)^  556. 
Kempeneer,  Pieter  de  {1503- 

80),  462,  466. 
Ketel,  Cornelis  {i 548-1616), 

577- 

Keyser,    Thomas  de  {i595~ 

1679).  578. 
Klopstock ,  Friedrich  Gottlieb, 

776. 

Koedtjk,   Nicolas   {c,  1660), 
632. 

Koninck,  Philips  {1619-88), 
620. 

Koninck,  Solomon  {1609-56), 
619. 


791 


Laar,     Pieter    van  {1582- 

1642),  633. 
Lagrenee,    Jean  Frangois 

{1724-1803),  694. 
Lairesse,   Gerard  de  {1641- 

1711),  647. 
Lancret,  Nicolas  (16^0-1743), 

688-9. 

Landscape  painting,  28,  72- 
3,  80-2,  98,  139-40,  i4S» 
265-6;  Giorgione,  343-4; 
Titian,  370-3,  445;  Italian, 
501-io;  Rubens,  550-1; 
Flemish,  556-7;  Dutch, 
588-90;  Rembrandt,  606- 
7;  Dutch,  634-42;  Ruys- 
dael,  635-6;  Hobbema, 
636-7;  Gainsborough,  740- 
I. 

Largilliere,    Nicolas  {1656- 

1746),  652-4. 
Lastmann,     Pieter  {1583- 

1633),  592-3- 
Latour,  Maurice  (1704-88), 

69374- 

Lavreince,    Nicolas  (1746- 

1808),  690. 
Le  Brun,  Charles  {1619-90), 

652,  654,  657-8,  694. 
Lemoine,    Frangois  {1688- 

1737)^  696-7. 
Le  Nain,  Louis   {d.  1648), 

648-  9. 

Leo  X.,  Pope,  393,  471- 
Leonardo   da    Vinci  {1452- 
1519),   166,   242-52,  277, 
288,  289,  324-30,  342,  348, 
402. 

Le    Prince,    Jean  Baptiste 

(1733-81),  690. 
Lessing,  Gotthold  Ephraim, 

775- 

Le  Sueur,  Eustache  (1617-55), 

649-  50. 

Leyden,     Lucas    van.  See 

Lucas  van  Leyden. 
Lingelbach,  Johannes  (1623- 

87\  639. 


Liotard,  Jean  Etienne  (1702- 

89),  694. 
Lippi,  Filippino  (i 457-1 504), 

190-4. 

Lippi,  Filippo  (1406-69),  92- 

5.  115.  173- 
Lisse,  Dirk  vander  (1644-69), 
588-9. 

Little  Masters,  The,  293. 
Livens,  Jan  (1607-72),  618- 
19. 

Lochner,  Stephan  (d.  1452), 
45-48,  68,  269. 

London,  Burleigh  House : 
Petrus  Cristus,  81. 

 ,Conway  Collection :  Lot- 
to, 440-1. 

 ,  Hampton  Court:  Man- 

tegna,  124. 

 ,  National  Gallery:  Jan 

van  Eyck,  79;  Piero  della 
Francesca,  10 1,  104;  An- 
tonio PoUajuolo,  129,  130; 
Piero  di  Cosimo,  169;  Bot- 
ticelH,  181,  186;  Bellini, 
222;  Leonardo,  248;  Bol- 
traffio,  332  ;  Correggio,  354; 
Morone,  381;  Lotto,  447; 
Rembrandt,  610;  Hogarth, 
732-3. 

 ,  South  Kensington  Mu- 
seum, Raphael,  416-7. 

Longhi,  Pietro  (1702-62),  750. 

Loo,  Carle  van  (1705-65), 
694. 

Lorenzett%   Amhrogio  (d.  c. 

1348),  14,  31.  33- 
Lorenzetti,  Pietro  (d.c.  1348), 

31. 

Loreto,   Cathedral;  Melozzo 

da  Forli,  127. 
Lotto,  Lorenzo   (1480-15 5 5), 

440-9. 

Louis  XIV.  of  France,  520, 

651,  652-9,  661. 
Liibeck,  Cathedral:  Memling, 

232. 

Lucas    van    Leyden  (1494- 

1533),  263-4. 
Luini,     Bernardino  (1475- 

1533)^  334-5- 


792 


Luther,   Martin,    280,  300, 
314,  418. 


M 


Madonna  in  art,  The,  12-15, 
17-19,  67,  74,  208-9,  211- 
12,  238,  360,  445,  533. 

Madrid  Academy:  Murillo, 
534- 

 ,  Prado:  Diirer,  288;  Ti- 
tian, 369;  Giulio  Romano, 
422  ;  Velasquez,  516-8,  526; 
Parejas,  529. 

 ,  Royal  Palace:  Tiepolo, 

752. 

Maes,  Nicolas  {i6j2-pj),  620. 
Maintenon,  Madame  de,  658, 

663,  666. 
Mantegna,    Andrea  (14JO- 

1506)  ,  116-26,  128,  129, 
134,  144,  149-50.  198-202, 
217,  285-6,  347-8. 

Mantua,  Castello  del  Corte, 
Camera  degli  Sposi:  Man- 
tegna, 122,  123. 

 ,  Palazzo  del  Te:  Giulio 

Romano,  422-3. 

Manutius,  Aldus,  339 

Marie   Antoinette,  Queen, 
720-4,  727,  763. 

Martini,  Simone  {1285-IJ44) 
31.  77- 

Marziale,  Marco    {c.  1492- 

1507)  ,  229. 

Masaccio  (Tommaso  Guidi), 
(1401-28),  55-59,  61-62, 
82. 

Maser,  Villa:  Paul  Veronese, 
451-2. 

Masolino  da  Panicale  (138 j- 

1440),  55-58. 
Massy s,  Jan  {1509-'/^),  262. 
Massy s,  Cornelis  (ij  12-80), 

475- 

Massys,  Quentin  {i 460-1 530), 
260-2. 

Master  of  the  Amsterdam  Cab- 
inet (d.  after  1503),  276-7. 

Master  of  the  Death  of  Mary 
(c.  1310-30),  270-1. 


Master  of  the  Female  Half 

Figures,  430. 
Master  of  the  Holy  Kinship 

(d.  150Q),  270. 
Master  of  the  Life  of  Mary 

(c.  1463-80),  269. 
Master  of  the  Lyversberg  Pas- 
sion {c.  1460-80),  268. 
Master   of   St.  Bartholomew 

(c.  1510),  274-5. 
Master  of  the  Altar  of  Sts. 

George  and  Hippolytus,  268. 
Al  aster  of  St.  Sever  in  {c.  13 10), 

271-3. 

Maximilian's    Prayer  book, 

281,  298. 
Mazo,  Juan  Battista  del  {1634 

-^7),  527- 
Mediaeval  painting,  2-62. 
Medici,  Cosimo  (Cosmo)  de', 

82,  109,  147-8. 
Medici,  Lorenzo  de',  147-52, 

157,  178-9.  181. 
Meer,  Jan  van  der  (i 632-73), 

631-2. 

Mclzi,  Francesco  {1492-1 336) 
333-4- 

Memling,    Hans   ( 1430-93 ), 
229-37. 

Memmi,  Lippo  (1290-1337), 
31- 

Mengs,  Anton  Rafael  (1728- 

79),  777-9- 
Menzel,  Adolf  von,  152,  319. 
Metsu,    Gabriel  (1630-67), 

632. 

Meulen,  Frans  van  der  (1634- 

90),  652. 
Michela  ngelo  Buonarroti 

{1475-1564),  59.  335.  383- 
401,  450. 
Middelburg :  van  der  Weyden, 
106. 

M  ierevelt ,     M  ichel  (1567- 

1641),  578. 
Mieris,  Frans  van  (1633-81), 

644. 

Mieris,  Willem  (1662-1747), 
644-5- 

Mignard,  Pierre  (1610-93), 
659- 


793 


Milan,  Ambrosiana:  de  Pre- 

dis,  331. 
 ,  Brera :  Piero  della  Fran- 

cesca,  105,  126,  140;  Man- 

tegna,  125;  Moretto,  381; 

Raphael,  411;  Lotto,  449. 
 ,  della  Grazie :  Leonardo, 

246. 

 ,  Museo  Poldi :  Domenico 


Veneziano,  91;  Solario,  33. 
— ,  Palazzo  Clerici:  Tie- 
polo,  7-51. 

— ,  Palazzo  Reale:  Luini, 


334.. 

Milam,  Giovanno  da  {c.  13  jo), 

Millet,  Jean  Francois,  623. 
Miniature  painting,  8. 
Mirandola,  Pico  della,  159. 
Molenaer,  Jan  (d.  1668),  587. 
Molyn,  Pieter  de  {ijp6-6i), 
590- 

Mommers,    Hendrik  {1623- 

97)^  639. 
Momper,  J 00s  de  {i 564-1634), 

556. 

Monnoyer,     Jean  BapHste 

{1634-99),  652. 
Montagna ,  Bartolommeo  (148O' 

1523),  226. 
Monte    Oliveto :  Signorelli, 

133;  Sodoma,  337. 
Mor,    Antonis  {1512-76), 

432-3. 

Morales,  Luis  {1509-86),  452. 

Moreau,  Gustave,  207. 

Moreelse,  Paulus  {1571- 
1638),  578. 

Moretto,  Alessandro  Bonvt- 
cino    {1498-1555),  380-1. 

Mor  one,  Giovanni  Battista 
{1520-78),  381. 

Mosaic  style,  3-1 1. 

Munich,  Pinakothek:  van  der 
Weyden,  107;  van  der 
Goes,  134;  Basaiti,  226; 
Schongauer,  255;  Holbein 
the  elder,  257-8;  Massys, 
261;  Dlirer,  286,  290,  291; 
Altdorfer,  297,  299;  Griine- 
wald,  305;  Gossart,  431; 


Elsheimer,  509;  Cano,  529. 

Murillo,  231,  532  ;  Silberechts, 
558;  Rembrandt,  596-7; 
Sweerts,  630. 

Murano,  San  Pietro:  Giovan- 
ni Bellini,  217. 

Murillo,  Bartolome  Esteban, 
{1617-82),  530-8. 

Mysticism  in  painting,  11-20. 


N 


Naples  Gallery  :  Cesare  da 
Sesto,  335  ;  Pieter  Brueghel, 
498. 

Napoleon  I.,  Emperor,  763, 
767. 

Natoire,   Charles   {1700-77) , 

664,  698. 
Nattier,  Jean  Marc  {1685- 

1766),  692. 
Navarete,    Juan  Fernandez 

{1526-79),  463. 
Neer,  Aart  van  der  {1603-77), 

638. 

Neer,  Eglon  van  der  {1643- 

1703),  645. 
Nelli,   Ottaviano    {d.  1444), 

50- 

Netschery  Casper  {1639-84), 
645- 

Neufchdtel,  Nicolas  {i 561-90) 
432-3- 

New  York,  Metropolitan 
Museum:  Frans  Hals,  583. 

Nooms,  Reynier  {1612-63), 
640. 

Nunez,  Juan  {c.  1507),  462. 

Nuremberg,  Germanic  Mu- 
seum: Holbein  the  elder, 
257- 

Nuzi,  Alegretto  {c.  1370),  50. 


Ochterveld,  Jacob  {c.  1665-75), 
632. 

Olis,  Jan  {1610-65),  587. 
Ollivier  {1712-84),  690. 
Orcagna ,  A  ndrea  {1308-68  ) , 
3i>  34-5.  36. 


794 


ITnDej 


Orley,    Barend    van  (1491- 

1542),  423. 
Orvieto,   Cathedral:  Signor- 

elli,  133-4- 
Ostade,  Adriaen  van  (1610- 

85),  625. 
Ostade,  Isaac  van  {1621-49), 

625-6. 

Ostendorfar,  Michael  {1519- 

59)^  300. 
Ouwater,  Albert  {c.  14^0-60), 

80. 

Oxford,  University  Gallery: 
Piero  della  Francesco,  loi, 
140. 

P 

Pacheco,    Francisco  (1571- 

1664),  467. 
Padua,  Arena  Chapel:  Giotto, 

22,  24. 

 ,  Eremitani:  Mantegna, 

121-2. 

 ,  Sant'  Antonio :  frescoes, 

30. 

 ,  San  Giorgio:  frescoes, 

30. 

Palamedesz^  Antony  {1601- 

73),  587. 
Palamedesz,  Palamedes  {1607- 

38),  633. 
Palma   Vecchio  {1480-1528), 
367-8. 

Panel  painting,  8-9,  11-20. 
Pantoja,   Juan   de   la  Cruz 

{1551-1609),  462-3. 
Parejas,     Jiian  {1606-70), 

529-30. 

Paris,    Duchatel  Collection : 
Baldovinetti,  143- 

Paris,  Kann  Collection:  Rem- 
brandt, 610. 

Paris,  Louvre:  Tura,  112; 
Mantegna,  125-6,  199,  200; 
Piero  di  Cosimo,  163; 
Perguino,  211;  Leonardo, 
248,  249,  250 ;  Massys,  261 ; 
Durer,288;  Solario,  331-2; 
Correggio,  3 50-5 1 , 3 54, 401 ; 
Daniele  da  Volaterra,  421; 


Giulio  Romano,  424;  Car- 
avaggio,  490,  493;  Poussin, 
506;  Zurbaran,  515;  Mur- 
illo,,534;  Rubens,  545,  550; 
Hals,  580;  Rembrandt, 
614-5;  Le  Nain,  648;  Le 
Sueur,  649;  Watteau,  676, 
678;  Boucher,  703-4,  706; 
Vigee-Lebrun,  728;  David, 
766-7. 

Parma,  Cathedral:  Correggio, 

349-50- 
Parma,  San  Giovanni  Evan- 

gelista:  Correggio,  349-50- 
Parma,  San  Paolo :  Correggio, 

349- 

Pastel  painting,  693. 

Pater,  Jean  Baptiste  {1696- 

1736),  689. 
Patinir,  Joachim  {1515-24), 

265,  266-7. 
Peasant    pictures,  Dutch, 

623-7. 

Peelers,  Jan  {1624-77),  559. 
Perreal,  Jan  {c.  1500),  435. 
Perronneau  {17JJ-96),  694. 
Perspective,  82-5. 
Perugia,  San  Severo :  Raphael, 
411. 

Perugino,  Pietro  {i 446-1 524), 
208-14,  219-20,  401. 

Pesne,  Antoine  {1683-1757), 
746. 

Philip  IV.  of  Spain,  517. 
Piazzetta,  Giambattista  {1682- 

1754),  749-50. 
Pickenoy,      Nicolas  Elias 

{1590-1646),  577. 
Pietersen,  Aert  {i 550-1612), 

577-8- 

Pinturicchio,  Bernardo  {1454- 

1513),  197-8. 
Piombo.    See  Sebastiano. 
Pisa,  Camposanto:  frescoes, 

30,  35;  Gozzoli,  95-6. 
Pisanello,     Vittore  {1380- 

1456),  75-6,  87. 
Pleydenwurff ,  Hans  {c.  1451- 

72),  255-6. 
Pleydenwurff,    Wilhelm,  {c, 

1488),  256. 


795 


Poelenburg,  Cornelis  (i 586- 

1667),  588-9. 
PoHziano,  22,  159,  181. 
Pollajuolo,    Antonio  {142Q- 

g8),  128-30,  173. 
Pollajuolo,  Piero  {1443-96), 

146-7. 

Pompadour,  Madame  de,  666, 
700,  701,  703-4,  705- 

Poorter,  Willem  de  {fl.  1635- 
45),  618-19. 

PorcelHs,  Jan  {c.  1615-32), 

Pordenone,  Giovanni  Antonio, 

{1483-1539),  380. 
Portraiture,  71,  77-79,  91-2, 

100,   239;   Diirer,  283-4; 

Holbein,    320-3;  Titian, 

369-70;  Bronzino,  424-5; 

Lotto,  446-7;  Tintoretto, 

455-6;  17th  century,  481- 

2;  Dutch,  570-80,  645-7; 

Hals,  579-86;  Rembrandt, 

593-617,  passim. 
Post,  Frans  (d.  1680),  639. 
Potter,  Paul  {1625-^^4),  633. 
Potter,    Pieter   {i  587-1650), 

590- 

Pourbus,  Frans  {i 570-1622), 
432-3- 

Poussin, Nicolas  (1594-1665), 

126,  505-6. 
Prague, Rudolphinum;  Diirer, 

287. 

Prato   Cathedral:  Filippino 

Lippi,  94. 
Predis,  Ambrogio  de  {c.  1510), 

330-1- 

Previtali,     Andrea  (1480- 

1528),  228. 
Primaticcio,  Francesco  {1504- 

70),  435-6. 
Protestantism,   Attitude  of, 

toward  art,  474-5- 
Prudhon,  Pierre  Paul  {1758- 

1823),  769-72. 
Puligo,     Domenico  {1475- 

1527),  424. 
Puntormo,    Jacopo  (1494- 

1556),  423-4- 
Puvis  de  Chavannes,  26 


Pynaker,    Adam  {1621-73), 
639. 


Quattrocento,  Character  of, 
39-43,  86-7,  357-63- 


Raoux,  Jean  {1677-1734), 
694- 

Raphael  Santi,  {148 3-1 520), 

57.  59.  407-19.  465. 
Ravestyn,   Jan   van  {1573- 

1657),  57^- 
Raymond  of  Sabunde,  69-70. 
Realism,  65-70, 195-6,  198. 
Recanati,    San  Domenico: 

Lotto,  443. 
Reformation,  The,  472. 
Regnault,  JeanBaptiste  {17  54- 

1829),  769. 
Rembrandt  van  Ryn  {c.  1606- 

69)^  593-617.  618-21. 
Renaissance  painting,  39-43. 

113-15,  476-7.  481-567. 
Reni,   Guido   {157 5-1642), 

487-8. 

Restoration,  English:  its  in- 
fluence upon  art,  730-1. 

Restout,  Jean  {1692-1768), 
694- 

Revolution,  French:  its  effect 

upon  painting,  760-65. 
Reynolds,  Sir  Joshua  {1723- 

92),  734-840. 
Ribalta,  Francisco  de  {1555- 

1628),  465-6. 
Ribera,  Jusepe  {i 588-1656), 

511-13- 

Riedinger,  Elias  {1698-1767), 
748. 

Rigaud,    Hyacinthe  {1659- 

1738),  652-5. 
Rimini,      San  Francesco: 

Piero  della  Francesca,  99- 

lOC. 

Rincon,  Antonio  del  {1446- 
1500),  462. 


796  ITl 

Roberti,  Ercole  dei  (i4^o-p6), 

112. 

Robusti,  Jacopo.  See  Tin- 
toretto. 

Rococo  painting,  674-717; 
characterized,  695-6. 

Rococo,  Spirit  of  the,  659- 
74,  691-2. 

RoeLas,  Juan  de  las  {1558- 
l62j),  466. 

Romanino,  Girolamo  {1485- 
1566),  380. 

Romano y  Giulio  {14Q2-1  ^46) , 
422. 

Rombouts,    Theodor  {15Q7-- 

1637),  500. 
Rome,     Barberini  Palace: 

Diirer,  288. 
 Capitol,   Gallery:  Cara- 

vaggio,  500. 
 Catacombs :  mural 

paintings,  5. 
 Farnesina:  Raphael, 

417-18. 

 Galleria  Borghese  :  Ce- 

sare  da  Sesto,  336;  Sodoma 
337-8;  Correggio,  354; 
Lotto,  442-447. 

 Galleria  Doria:  Lotto, 

447- 

 Palazzo  Costagneti ;  Do- 

menichino,  488. 

 Palazzo  Rospiglosi :  Lot- 
to, 447;  Guido  Reni 
487.  _ 

 Prince        Pallavincini : 

Botticelli,  183. 

 San   Clemente :  Maso- 

lino,  55. 

 S.  M.  della  Pace:  Ra- 
phael, 416-17. 

 S.   M.   sopra  Minerva: 

Filippino  Lippi,  192-3. 

 San  Martino  ai  Monti : 

Dughet,  506. 

 Sciarra  Gallery:  Cara- 

vaggio,  500. 

 Vatican  Chambers:  Ra- 
phael, 128,  412-13,  416. 

 Vatican,  Chapel  of  Nich- 
olas V:  Fiesole,  54-55. 


 Vatican  Gallery :  Cara- 

vaggio,  493. 

 Vatican,  Loggie:  Ra- 
phael 415. 

 Vatican  Sacristry:  Me- 

lozzo,  127-8. 

 Vatican,  Sistine  Chapel: 

SignorelH,  133;  Botticelli, 
178;  Michelangelo,  386-9, 
395,  400-1. 

 Villa  Albani:  Raphael 

Mengs,  777. 

Rosa,  Salvator  {1616-73), 
501-3. 

Roslin,  Alexander  {1718-93), 
690. 

Rossclli,  Cosimo  {1439-1507), 

162,  167. 
Rossetti,  Dante  Gabriel,  loi. 
Rosso,  II  {Giovanni  Battista 

di    Jacopo)    {i  494-1 541), 

435- 

Rotari,  Pietro  {1707-62),  750. 

Rottenhammer,  Johann  {1564- 
1623),  434- 

Rouen  Museum:  Gerard  Da- 
vid, 237. 

Rousseau,  Jean  Jacques,  714- 

15.  743-4. 
Roymerswcele,   Marinus  van 

{c.  1521-60),  262. 
Rubens,  Peter  Paul  {1577- 

1640),   522,   543-53.  555. 

558,  560,  561-2,  564-5. 
Riiysch,  Rachel  {1664-17 50), 

641. 

Ruysdael,  Jacob  {c.  1625-82), 
635-6. 

Ruysdael,  Salomon  {c.  1605- 
70),  635-6. 

S 

Saftleven,    Hermann  {1609- 

<^5).  639. 
Saint  Aubin,    Augustin  de 

{1 736-1807),  691. 
Sand,  George,  665. 
Sandrart,  Joachim  von  {1606- 

88),  305,  308. 


797 


San  Gimignano,  San  Agos- 
tino:  Gozzoli,  95. 

Santi,  Giovanni{d.  1494),  409. 

Sarto,  Andrea  del.  See  An- 
drea del  Sarto. 

Saskia  van  Uylenburgh,  599- 
601,  605-6, 

Savery,  Roelant  {1576-1639), 
556. 

Savoldo,   Giovanni  Girolamo 

{1510-50),  381-2. 
Savonarola ,  Girolamo ,  157- 

61,  171,  183-6,  187-8,  195, 

208,  238-41. 
Schaffner,  Martin  {c.  1508- 

35),  309-10. 
Schalcken,    Gottfried  {1643- 

1706),  645- 
Schaufelein,   Hans  {1480- 

1539),  294.  . 
Schiavone,  Gregorto  {c.  1441), 

109. 

Schick,  Gottlieb  {1776-18 12), 

779- 
Schiller,  783. 

Schongauer,  Martin  {1450- 
91),  255,  258,  259. 

Schools  of  Painting 

School,  Augsburg,  310. 

 Brescia,  380-2. 

 Byzantine,  6-9,  12,  13, 

25.  44-5- 

 Cologne,    16-20,  46-8, 

73-4,  75.  267. 

 Dutch,  570-642. 

 English,  729-41. 

 Ferrarese,  11 0-13. 

 Flemish,  540-69. 

 Florentine,  21-30,  54-9, 

82-96,  99,  141-7,  152-6, 
162-94,  207-8,  217-8,  238- 
52, 383-406,  410-13,  423-4. 

 Franconian,  292-304. 

 French,   434-6,  505-6, 

509-10,  648-728,  760-72. 

 German,    15-20,  46-8, 

253-8,    267-323.  294-5, 
423-4,  507-8.  741-8,  772- 
82.    See  also  the  headings 


Cologne,  Nuremberg,  Sua- 
bian,and  other  localschools 

 Italian,    483-94,  499- 

500,  501-10.  For  the  de- 
velopment preceding  1600 
consult  Florentine,  Sien- 
nese,  Venetian,  Umbrian, 
and  other  local  schools. 

 Milanese,  330-7. 

 Netherlands,  59-62,  78- 

81,  106-9,  134-40,  229-38, 
260-7,  428-33,  494.  For 
the  development  after  1 600 
see  Dutch  and  Flemish 
schools. 

 Nuremberg,  255-6,  278- 

92. 

  Paduan,   109-26,  198- 

202. 

 Parma,  345-55- 

 Prague,  19. 

 Roman,  414-23,  426-7. 

 Siennese,  14-15. 

 Spanish,  459-67,  511- 

39,  757-60. 

304- 


23- 

 Umbrian,    49-51,  96- 

105,  126-34,  197-8,  207- 
16,  407-10. 

 Venetian,   43-6,  48-9, 

196-7,  202-7,  217-29,  339- 
45.  3^3-3^3*  438-59.  748- 
57- 

 Veronese,  75-8. 

 Westphalian,  16. 

Schut,  Cornelis  {i597-i^55)> 

Schwarz,Christoph  {1550-97), 

Museum:  Hals, 


434- 
Schwerin, 

583- 

Schwind,  Moritz  von,  280. 
Scorel,  Jan  {1495-1562),  428, 

Sehastiano  del  Piombo  {1485- 

1547),  382-3. 
Seghers,  Daniel  {i 590-1661), 

559- 

Seghers,  Hercules  {d.  1650), 
590,  634. 


798 


Sesto,  Cesare  da  (c.  ij2j), 
o  335-6. 

Seville,  Cathedral:  Vargas, 
466. 

 Hospital:  Murillo,  532. 

Siena,  Academy:  Sodoma, 
337- 

 Cathedral:  Duccio,  14. 

 Palazzo    Publico,  30; 

Ambrogio  Lorenzetti,  33. 
Signorelli,  Luca  {1441-152J), 

130-4. 

Silberechts,  Jan  {162'j-ijoi), 
558- 

Simons,  Marten  (c.  1660), 
641. 

SHngeland,  Pieter  van  (1640- 

91),  632. 
Snyders,  Frans  {i 579-16 

Sodoma.    See  Bazzi. 
Sogliani,    Giovanni  {i4Q2~ 

1544)^  424. 

Solaria,  Andrea  (c.  1495- 
1515),  331-2. 

Solothurn,  Town  Hall:  Hol- 
bein, 319. 

Spinello  Aretino  (iJiS- 
1410)  31. 

Spranger,  Barthel  {1546- 
1604),  433- 

Squarcione,  Francesco  {1^94- 
1474),  115-116,  122-3. 

St.  Jans,  Geertgen  van  (1452- 
80),  229-30. 

St.  Petersburg,  Hermitage : 
de  Predis,  331;  Cesare  da 
Sesto,  336;  Raphael,  411; 
Tintoretto,  455;  Rem- 
brandt, 599,  603. 

Stael,  Madame  de,  776. 

Stamina,  Gherardo  (1J54- 
1413)^  55. 

Steen,  Jan  (1020-79),  626-7, 

Still-life,  80,  531;  Flemish, 
559;  Dutch,  590-1,  630. 

Stockholm  Museum :  Rem- 
brandt, 599;  Boucher, 
706 

Storck,  Abraham  {1630-1710), 
640. 


Strigel,    Bernhard  (1461- 

1528),  256-7. 
Subleiras,    Pierre  {1699- 

1749),  694. 
Suso  of  Cologne,  17,  19,  20. 
Siiss,  Hans  (died  c.  1522),  293. 
Swanefeld,  Hermann  (1620- 
^  55).  639. 

Sweerts,  Michel  (c.  1650),  630. 


Tempel,   Abraham  van  den 

(1618-72),  585. 
Tempesta,    Antonio  {1555- 

1630),  500. 
Teniers,    David  {1610-90), 

624-5. 

Terborg,  Gerhard  (161J-81), 

628-30. 
Teunissen,  Cornelis  (c.  1550), 

577- 

Theodocopuli,  Domenico.  See 

Greco,  El. 
Theodorich    of    Pragtie,  (c. 

1367),  16. 
Theresa,  St.,  461. 
Thomas  Aquinas,  St.,  32. 
Thulden,  Theodor  van  (1606- 

76),  555-  . 
Tie  polo,    Giovanni  Battista 

(1693-1770),  750-7. 
Tintoretto     (1519-94),  122, 

454-9- 

Tischbein,    Wilhelm    (17  51- 
1829),  748. 

r^/wn( 1 477-1 576),  363,454, 

455,  457- 
Tocque,   Louis  (1696-1772), 
692. 

Toledo,  San  Tome:  El  Greco, 
464. 

Toscane Hi,. Paolo,  83. 
Tournieres,     Robert  (1668- 

1752),  692. 
Tours,   Museum:  Mantegna, 

121. 

Traini,  Francesco  (c.  1350), 

31,  32. 
Trianon,  722-4. 
Tristan,    Luis  (1586-1640), 

465. 


799 


Troy,  Jean  Frangois  de  {i6'jg- 

1752),  694. 
Tura,  Cosimo  (i4j2-Qj),  112. 
Turin  Gallery:  Piero  Pollaju- 

olo,  147. 

U 

Uccello,  Paolo  (13Q7-1473), 

83-6,  102,  115,  121. 
Uden,  Lucas  van  (i 595-1672), 

559- 

Udine,  Archiepiscopal  Palace: 

Tiepolo,  751. 
Urbino  Library:  Melozzo  da 

Forli,  127,  128. 
Utrecht,  Adriaen  van  {1599- 

1652),  559- 
Uytenhrock,  Moses  van  {1590- 

1648),  589. 

V 

Vadder,  Lodewyck  de  (1568- 

1623),  559. 
Vaga,  Perino  del  (1499-1547), 

421 

Valckenborch,  Lucas  van  {c. 

1550-70),  556. 
Valckert,    Werner    van  {c. 

1622-27),  577. 
Valdez-Leal,  Jean  de  (i6jo- 

91)^  538-9- 

Valentin,  Le  {Jean  de  Bou- 
logne) (1600-34),  500. 

Vargas,  Luis  de  {1502-68), 
466. 

Vasari,    Giorgio    {i  511-74), 

112-3,  129,  142-3,  164-7. 

171-3,    186-7,    244,  341, 

368,  407,  426. 
Velasquez,  Diego{i 599-1660), 

504,  515-27,  568,  582,  629. 
Velde,  Adriaen  van  de  {1635- 

72),  633. 
Velde,  Esaias  van  de  {c.  1590- 

1630),  589. 
Velde,  Willem  van  de  {1633- 

1707),  640. 
Veneziano,  Antonio  {c.  1390), 

31- 

Veneziano,  Domenico  {1402- 
61),  90-2,  99,  102,  142. 


Venice,  Academy:  Carpaccio, 

227 ;  Cima,  205. 
 Church  of  the  Jesuits: 

Tiepolo,  751. 
 Church  of  the  Scalzi: 

Tiepolo,  751. 
 Ducal  Palace :  Gentile 

de  Fabriano,     50;  Paolo 

Veronese,  451. 
 Franchetti  Collection 

Mantegna,  200. 
 Frari:    Giovanni  Bel 

lini,  217. 
— —  Madonna  del  Orto :  Tin 


toretto,  458, 

—  Museo  Correr:  Giovanni 
Bellini,  222  ; Carpaccio,  228 

—  Palazzo  Labia :  Tiepolo 
751- 

—  Palazzo  Rezzonico :  Tie 
polo,  751. 

—  San  Giobbe :  Giovanni 


Bellini,  217. 

—  San  Giovanni  Crisos- 
tomo :  Sebastiano  del 
Piombo,  382. 

—  S.  M.  de  Frari:  Titian, 
366-67. 

S.  M.  della  Pieta:  Tie- 


polo, 751. 

 S.  M.    Mater  Domini: 

Catena,  228. 

 SS.  Giovanni  e  Paolo: 

Lotto,  449. 

 San  Zaccaria :  Giovanni, 

Bellini,  449. 

Scuola  di  San  Rocco  ,459. 


Venne,  Adriaen  van  de  (i 589- 

1662),  589. 
Verkolje,     Nicolas  {1673- 

1746),  632. 
Vernet,' Horace,  658. 
Verona,    Palazzo    Canossa : 

Tiepolo,  751. 
Veronese,    Paolo  {1528-88), 

155,  450-4,  753-4. 
Verrocchio,    Andrea  {1435- 

88),  143-6,  173- 
Versailles,  Palace  of  ,  655-6. 
Verspronck,  Jan  {i 597-1662), 
586. 


8oo 


Vicenza,    Villa  Valmerana: 

Tiepolo,  751. 
Victoors,  Jan  {i620-'/2),  619. 
Vien,  Joseph  Marie  {17 16- 

i8og),  727. 
Vienna,    Imperial  Gallery: 

Geertgen  van  St.  Jans,  230 ; 

Memling,  233;  Schongauer, 

255;Durer,  289,  290;  Cor- 

reggio,  354-5;  Titian,  364; 

Pieter  Brueghel,  495. 
 Liechtenstein  Gallery: 

Leonardo  (?),  245;  Cara- 

vaggio,    499;   Hals,  582; 

Rembrandt,  599. 
Vigee-Lebrun,  Elisabeth 

{17 5 5-1842),  727-8. 
Ville   Monterchi:  Piero  della 

Francesca,  104. 
Vincent,      Frangois  Andre 

{1746-1816),  769. 
Vinci,    Leonardo    da.  See 

Leonardo  da  Vinci. 
Vinckboons,    David  (1578- 

1629),  556  _ 
Vivarim,      Alivtse  {1464- 

1503),  224-5,  441- 
Vivarini,  Antonio  {c.  1435- 

70),  48-49- 
Vivarini,    Bartolommeo,  (c. 

1450-99),  202. 
Vlieger,  Simon  de  {1600-56), 

640. 

Vogel,    Christian  Leberecht 

{1759-1816),  781. 
Volterra,  Daniele  da  {d.1566), 

421. 

Volterra,    Francesco    da  (c. 

1390),  31. 
Voort,  Cornelis  van  der  {d. 

1624),  577. 
Vos,  Cornelis  de  {1585-1651), 

555-6. 

Vos,  Marten  de  {1532-1603), 
433. 

Vos,   Paul  de   {i 592-1678), 
559- 

Vomt,   Simon    {i  590-1649), 
648. 

Vrancx,   Sebastian  (1573- 
1647)^  556. 


W 

Wdchter,    Eberhard  (1762- 

1852),  779. 
Waterloo,  Antonis  {c.  1660), 

638. 

Watteau,     Antoine  (1684- 

1721)  ,  674-85,  687-8. 
Watts,    George  Frederick, 

530- 

Weenix,  Jan  (1640-1819), 
641. 

Weenix,  Jan  Baptista  (1621- 

60),  641. 
Werff,  Adriaen  van  der  (16 59- 

1722)  ,  647. 

Weyden,  Roger  van  der  1369- 

1464),  106-9,  iio-ii,  112, 

254,  268. 
Wilhelm  of  Cologne  {or  von 

Herle)    {1358-72),  117. 
Wilson,   Richard  {1714-82), 

740. 

Winckelmann,  Johann  Joa- 
chim, 775,  777,  778, 
781. 

Witte,    Emanuel   de  {1670- 

1736),  640. 
Woensam,  Anton  {i 518-53), 

294. 

Wohlgemuth,  Michael  {1434- 
1519),  253,  256,  285. 

Wouwermann,  Philips  {16 19- 
68),  633-4. 

Wiirzburg  Palace:  Tiepolo, 
752- 

Wynants,  Jan  {1600-79), 
638. 

Wynrich,  Hermann  {c.  1400), 
18-20,  46,  47. 


Zeitblom,      Bartholomdus  {c. 

1484-1518),  256. 
Zenale,      Bernardo  {1436- 

1526),  215. 
Zoppo,  Marco  {c.  1468-98), 

109. 

Zurbaran,  Francisco  {1598- 
1662),  514-6. 


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